Caged Hearts
by disneyqueen
Summary: 1870 – Caged birds cannot sing, their music lost. With Christine locked in an asylum, Erik must find his angel and together they must help reawaken the music in themselves and face their own inner demons with secrets and betrayal following them.
1. Think of Me

**Hi everyone and welcome to me new story! I'm a huge fan of Phantom of the Opera. I do not own any of it. The Phantom of the Opera belongs to Andrew Webber and Gaston Leroux and any other people connected to the work. This is purely for fun that I'm writing. **

**However, there is some differance between my and ht e movie's timeline. The Ball in the movie was held for the New Year so at the beginging of January or so and then when you add on a moth or soo of reharesing the opera, I put the prefoamce sometime in early March. Also because this is historical fiction(kind of) I moved the date back a year to 1870 since the Franco-Prussian War began that year and in1871 it would be impossible for the opera to have the ball since the city of Paris fell in October 1870. Anyway, there are just some of the histical context of the story (there will be more.)**

**This idea just came to me and I hope you enjoy it. All chapter titles will be some song lyrics or titles. Oh and a huge thanks to my BETAer Honeyphan whose story semi inspired me. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this begining.**

_Someone was shaking her, calling out her name. She blinked as reality came back into focus. She felt something wet wrapped around her legs as she was pulled further away from the pond's edge. Frigid evening air swirled around her as she looked into the blue eyes of her fiancé, Raoul de'Changy. His eyes, filled with concern, glintted in the moonlight. _

_"Christine, what are you doing out here?"His voice shook. _

_Christine blinked again, looking down at her reflection on the dark water surface. Her curls were unkempt as if she had awoken from her bed. The hem of her white nightgown was soaked, transparent, exposing her pale skin beneath. Confused, she continued to stare at the water. She felt something being draped over her shoulders for warmth, recognizing Raoul's jacket. Cautiously, he placed a hand on her shoulder and turned her to face him. _

"_What were you doing out here, Christine?" Raoul asked gently._

_Christine looked away from him, staring across the open fields beyond the pond of the de'Changy country estate. _

"_I heard him…my teacher. He was out here." Her voice was a whisper, but it seemed to echo in the silence of the night._

_Raoul held her tightly. "Christine….why were you going to go into the lake?" _

"_I…don't know." _

_She closed her eyes as Raoul muttered her name, bringing her into a protective embrace. _"_Christine, shh, it's all right. Christine, Christine…." _

"Christine… Mademoiselle Daae! Please pay attention," a shrill female voice called over to the young brunette.

Christine blinked and glanced over at the older woman, the Comtesse de'Changy, standing near the hearth in the sitting room. A shiver ran down her spine as she tried to push away the memory of the night by the pond.

_Was it only six days ago?_ She asked herself, glancing out the window. The early afternoon sun streamed in from the large windows. Despite the arrival of spring, a fire burned in the hearth; its warmth spreading around the entire room. A few books were stacked upon a table while some discarded needlework lay on an empty chair. Massive portraits of the noble de'Changy ancestors hung on the walls; their eyes seemed fixed upon the soon to Vicomtesse; all of them waiting for her to make a mistake.

She bowed in head in embarrassment, she said, "Oh, pardon me, Madame. I was merely…."

Her voice trailed off into a yawn. A blush crept onto her cheeks as the Countess stared at her. The Comtesse's sharp, fierce blue eyes bore into Christine as the older woman moved and sat down across the table. Gracefully, the Comtesse spread her large navy blue skirt around the chair then folded her hands neatly onto her lap. She nodded and said, "Surely you must know it is impolite to yawn when someone is speaking to you. Have you not been getting enough sleep?"

Christine hesitated. "…Oui, Madame, I'm sorry. It won't…will not happen again." She corrected her speech as she stifled another yawn.

"See that it does not. I can only hope I can teach you something. Now, what is the proper way for a hostess to behave?"

Christine paused as she tried to recall the answer. She could not remember a time when she had ever held the title of a hostess. The atmosphere of all the parties or events most of her life had been informal. Yet, the high nobility was very prim and proper in all events even when a single guest came to call.

Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath and said, "As the hostess one must make certain the guests are comfortable. In addition one must be considerate of the guests and provide them with what they may need."

Opening her eyes, she waited. Seconds ticked by and she felt her heart begin to beat hard against her chest, but she dared not lower her eyes in defeat.

The Comtesse stared at her before a tiny smile curled at the corners of her lips. She gave a short nod. "That was fine, my dear. I believe that will be all for right now, but remember we have the Baron's dinner party this evening."

Christine bit back a sigh of annoyance and nodded. "Yes, of course, Madame, I…."

Once more, her voice trailed off. The older woman had already begun to resume her work set upon the table: a list of wedding invitations for all the nobility of France. Taking it as her cue to leave, Christine stood and slipped out into the silent corridor.

Oil lamps lit the long hallways as the scullery maids swept and dusted for the high standards of their mistress and the family. The chaos of the staff reminded her of her old life at the opera house before an opening performance. Each person too involved in their own tasks to notice anything else. Sighing in relief, that the lessons in being a Vicomtesse had temporarily ended, she quietly slipped through the passageways, her feet automatically following a familiar route.

At the bottom of the staircase, she paused and looked up and down the silent corridor. The freshly lit lamps and sunlight cast a gold vibrancy along the walls. Closing her eyes, she could remember her first descent into the fifth cellar beneath the Opera House. A tiny half hearted smile slid onto her face as she continued down the corridor, her lips mouthing the words of her first aria in front of the nobility of Paris. That night she had felt the music; it had filled her soul with its complex, but sweet melody. Gradually, her voice began to float down the passageway.

_Think of me_

_Think of me fondly_

_When we've said goodbye_

_Remember me once in a while_

_Please promise me you'll try_

Her voice trailed off as she caught a glimpse of her reflection in a mirror. Light powder and rouge covered her face, yet she could make out the dark circles beneath her eyes. A wary smile crept onto her face as she stared at her reflection. She remembered staring at herself reflected in the pond's surface with Raoul by her side about a week ago. Since then she had barely been able to sleep. A shiver crawled down her spine as she pushed the memory away. Taking a deep breath, she turned from the mirror, grabbed her cloak, and slipped out a side door.

The July air swirled around her as she walked through the garden of the estate. She welcomed the quietness and the sanctuary. Flowerbeds filled the area: lilies, tulips were in full bloom, but the roses had recently begun to bud. She loved looking at the new buds waiting to blossom. Over the past months, she had come to love the garden as her escape, from the prying and disdainful eyes of the French nobility during evening events. All the duties of a soon to be Vicomtesse filled her afternoons with her soon to be mother and sister in-laws. Shaking her head, Christine sighed and settled herself onto a bench; her dark green skirt spread gracefully across the gray stone seat. She stared down at the flowers, a small smile curled at the corners of her lips.

"Has it only been five months that I have been here?" she whispered to herself. Unconsciously, her eyes lowered to her lap; the white gold engagement ring sparkled in the sunlight encasing its beauty. Raoul had given it to her a week after the famous disaster at the Opera Populaire. When they had first gotten engaged she had worn the ring on a necklace, fearful of people finding out. Yet, Raoul insisted she wear the ring properly upon her finger as a symbol of their love.

_Love…what do I know about love?_ She asked herself, wringing her hands together. She barely saw Raoul besides meals, evening events, or just passing in the halls. He promised that would all change once they wed, but the fact did not comfort her.

Heavy footsteps brought her attention back to reality. Glancing up, she spotted one of the old gardeners entering from the rear gate. The middle aged man smiled and removed his hat as he bowed to her. "Ah, Bonjour Mademoiselle Daae. I hope you are well today?"

Christine blushed. "Oh yes, Monsieur." She paused and looked down at the rosebuds near her feet. "You have done well with keeping the flowers alive, but those sem to be late bloomers."

"Merci, but it is nature that allows flowers to live. I only nurture and help them along. Though I admit I love roses the best as you seem to do as well, Mademoiselle."

She nodded. "Oui, I do… love them a lot. Do you know when these buds will burst into bloom?"

The older man looked at her. "Forgive me, I'm not familiar with that phrase. I suspect they will bloom when they choose to do so."

Christine bit her lip and nodded again. "Of course."

"Well I must get back to work. Good day, Mademoiselle," the gardener said and bowed, before walking away to tend to his duties.

She watched him move further down the path as a blush again crept into her cheeks. Where had that phrase come from? It was an unusual choice of words, yet they caused her heart to beat faster. Once more, she shook her head, tightening the grip on her cloak as the chilly wind swept through the garden. The call of a bluebird caught her attention as the small creature settled on the ground near her feet. His large eyes stared up at her and he began to chirp a small tune. She smiled and began to hum a small tune herself, a Swedish lullaby from her childhood.

"I thought I would find you here," a voice said from behind her.

Startled, she turned and saw Raoul walking toward her. He wore his riding outfit: a white shirt beneath a blue jacket, brown pants, and black boots. Removing his gloves, he walked over and sat beside her on the bench.

"Did you enjoy your ride?" Christine asked, placing her hand over his.

"Oh it was wonderful. I always feel better after a run with Champion. I admit I prefer the country over the hustle and bustle of the city." He turned to her and smiled. "So what has my Little Lotte been doing today?"

"Spending time with your…." She yawned. "I'm sorry. I was…talking to your mother."

"Ah of course. Well I hope you two are getting along…." He paused as she yawned again. Concern flickered through his eyes as he looked at her. "Christine, is something wrong?"

Christine shook her head. "It's nothing, Raoul, truly. I just have not been getting enough sleep."

Raoul chuckled. "Are my mother's lessons so exhausting?"

"No of course not, Raoul. I just cannot fall asleep at night. I lie awake in the dark listening…."

Raoul's eyebrows furrowed. "Listening for what?"

Christine snuggled against him as he wrapped his arms around her protectively. Her voice was a whisper, but it seemed to echo in the silent garden. "The music of the night, I cannot sleep without it."

Raoul pulled away and stared into her deep brown eyes. "What do you mean? Christine is it happening again?"

"No, Raoul, not since the last time."

"Perhaps we should call a doctor."

"I'm fine, Raoul, really. There isn't any need for you to worry about me. Now other than riding what have you been doing today?"

Raoul sighed and reluctantly began to discuss his day. She leaned against him in contentment. Listening to him allowed her to escape the pressures of her impending role if only for a few minutes. He spoke of business with other nobles and the stress of keeping the estate in order while his father attended to other important issues elsewhere.

"And with the trade my father does with Spain…." He paused and looked down at his dozing fiancée. "Little Lottie…Christine, are you certain you are all right? Perhaps you should go inside and rest before this evening's party."

Christine stirred a little and looked up at him. "Hm…perhaps you're right, Raoul. Though I do believe I have another meeting with your sister in a few minutes. I would not want to upset her."

Raoul cupped her cheek in his hand. "Do not worry about it, my love. The most important thing for you to do is rest. After all, the Baron is known to have lively and long parties."

Christine chuckled lightly and nodded. Over the last few months, she had grown used to the long evenings of endless parties. The elegant woman gossiped over one scandal or another while the men spoke of business and politics. Each nobleman had their own reputation within the social ranks; and this particular Baron was known for his exciting and late parties, which never seemed to end. Yet, at times she wished to have a simple night alone with her fiancé without all the hushed whispers that surrounded them during one of the social gatherings.

Taking a deep breath, she looked at Raoul and asked, "Do you ever get tired of these parties?"

Raoul paused, thoughtfully. "I suppose at times, but getting together with these families is part of my life." He winked at her. "Soon to be our life."

Hesitantly, she nodded and yawned.

"Come let us get you to bed," Raoul said, standing up and holding out his hand to her.

She accepted it. "Merci, Raoul, but I believe your mother will want another session before tonight's events."

"I will speak to my sister and mother on that subject. Now you must get some sleep in your bed," He said.

Christine smiled faintly. "You know what Little Lottie loved about sleeping in her bed is the angel of Music singing-"

"Christine, that is not funny!" Raoul said, pulling away and staring down at her sternly. "I will not hear about that demon here. You know the police are still looking for that monster and when they catch him he will pay his crimes. Please not mention him or the opera again, do you understand me? Both of them are no longer a part of our lives."

"I…was only teasing you."

Raoul's eyes narrowed.

She took a deep breath and stared at him. "I understand, Raoul."

He sighed and brought her into a gentle embrace. Automatically, she felt her hands sliding around his back, returning the gesture. Yet, she did not feel the usual comfort from her childhood sweetheart. He was rigid at the simple mention of her angel. To him her angel would only be the Phantom of the Opera, a killer who must be caught and brought to justice.

Sighing, she pulled out of his embrace. "I'm sorry Raoul. I was truly just teasing you."

"Don't think about it, Little Lottie." He paused and took a deep breath. "Everything is all right now. We are safe from his spell." He forced a nervous smile. Wrapping his arm around her, he led her back inside, away from the garden.

XxX

Candlelight flickered across the long white table cloth. Dishes were filled with delicious food while polite conversation filled the dining room. Many of the nobility were present catching up with old friends or spreading the latest scandal one woman had heard from a friend's acquaintance. Christine sat quietly amidst the conversation, aware of all the eyes watching her between bites or over their goblets. Out of corner of her eye, she noticed Raoul speaking with the Baron, perhaps discussing some political matters. A smile formed on her face as she watched him, so comfortable among the society that judged her for her past as a chorus girl at the opera. Yet, Raoul seemed to barely notice her

She blinked and looked at her companion on her right. "Pardon, what did you say, Monsieur?"

The man glanced at her. "Oh, forgive me, Mademoiselle, I only said that I have heard some rumors of a possibility of the Opera Populaire being rebuilt."

"Rebuilt?" Christine asked surprise evident in her voice.

Another woman shook her head. "That place is cursed, I tell you. How can they even think of rebuilding such a horrible place? Has everyone already forgotten about the great fire that destroyed it to begin with?"

"Of course not, but the Opera Populiare is…was one of the greatest buildings to ever be built. How can you deny that?" the man asked before taking a sip of brandy.

The woman glanced over at Christine. "Well, I'm certain Mademoiselle Daae would love to see the opera again, isn't that right, my dear?"

Christine froze. The question was most certainty a test to see where her values lay as either a soon to be Vicontesse or a poor ballet rat not worthy of dining with nobility. She could feel the eyes of those closest to her. She fought the urge to look at Raoul for her answer. Lifting her chin slightly, she looked at the woman. "It would be splendid to have the opera rebuilt…if only for people to be entertained. After all, operas are meant to transport the audience into another world."

The woman looked at her. "Well said. However, I do not see why you would like to see it rebuilt. After all, you were the reason for the dreadful event to occur in the first place. Is that not right?"

"I do not deny anything, but you cannot just leave a horrible memory there." She paused and took a deep breath. "…You must move on and what better way than to rebuild and reopen the opera house?" Christine said before taking a small bite of her meal.

The woman huffed and returned to another conversation with a woman on her left. Yet, the man beside Christine nodded in approval. "You are certainly right. It would be a shame to leave that place a pile of rocks. We must move on even when unfortunate things happen. You know my family used to be a patron of the opera?"

Christine shook her head. "No I didn't, Monsieur."

"Oh yes, but we had to stop after my father learned most of his money was being given to some unknown person….I believe the ballet girls called him, oh what was it? Oh yes, the Phantom of the Opera. The same man who destroyed the opera house all those months ago. I honestly hope they catch that madman."

Christine said nothing, but took another sip of her drink. The conversation continued around her, but she remained silent unless directly spoken too. She was too deep in thought about the news, even a simple rumor, that the opera house might be rebuilt. Was it possible? Her heart raced with both fear and happiness, but she kept her face as neutral as possible, following the example of the other women at the table.

Later in the parlor, the women sat around the fire, still lost in their gossip while the men had retired to the card room. Christine found herself seated away from the others. She knew Raoul wanted her to socialize with these women, but she could not find anything in common with them. Sighing, she leaned back in her chair and stared into the crackling fire.

"I wonder how the wedding plans going?" one of the women asked loudly.

Christine glanced over at the group. Turning her back to the fire, she said, "It is going quite well, thank you, Madame."

"And who is on your guest list? Surely you do not intend to invite those silly ballet girls," another one asked, smiling.

Christine felt her blood boil at the look on the woman's face. The ballet girls and the other Opera staff had been her family for the last ten years of her life after her father's death. Yet, the wedding list was not her job. According to the comtesse, her only job was to learn the social graces of high society.

Tugging at her gloves, she said, "Well I'm not at liberty to discuss the list."

The woman raised her eyebrows. "Oh really?"

"Now, Madame, leave the poor girl alone. Would you care to sing for us, Lady Juliet?" The Baron's wife said, sending an accusing glare to the older woman.

Christine sighed and watched as the other women took turns at the playing the piano and singing simple songs. She tried to not wince at some of the sounds that the women made while others had pretty little voices. At the end of each, they bowed and complimented each other despite some of the obvious distain for some. Once everyone had gone, the Baron's wife turned to Christine.

"Are you not going, Mademoiselle Daae? I understand you were trained in the arts," she said.

Christine hesitantly nodded. "Oui, I was, but it has been a while since I sang."

"Oh come now I insist," she walked over to the piano. "Now what would you like to sing?"

Christine paused, thoughtful. After a moment, she nodded and took a position near the piano. She named the piece and turned back to her small audience. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes and waited for the music to begin. She felt the music surround her at the opening notes. Despite her exhaustion, she felt more awake as the music continued to play. At her cue, she began to sing; her voice soft and sweet before it crescendo into the second verse. Her voice echoed around the small parlor with properly trained experience.

Silence filled the room when she finished dipping into a small curtsy to her audience. Raising her head, she caught a sight of Raoul, a small smile on his face. She blushed and lowered her eyes, moving away from the piano.

After a moment, the Baron's wife began to clap and said, "Oh brava, Mademoiselle, I had no idea you could sing with such skill. You sound as though you could be a real opera singer, like La' Carlotta."

Christine blushed, but kept her eyes lowered. "Merci, Madame."

"Of course," another woman said. "But you must tell us where did you learn to sing like that?"

"My father and then my teacher," Christine said simply, suddenly tired. She stifled a yawn and said, "Though I have not seen my teacher for some time now I'm afraid."

"Oh, such a shame, I imagine he was a great tutor."

Christine nodded. "He was the best."

"Oh there you are my love," Raoul said, entering the room and walking over to fiancé. He smiled and turned to the Baron's wife. "I'm sorry, but I fear we must bid you a good evening, Madame."

The Baron's wife nodded. "Of course, Monsieur Vicomte. I will have Henri get your carriage ready."

Raoul nodded as the Baron's wife left the room for a moment. Turning to Christine, he said, "You were amazing, Christine."

Christine blushed. "Thank you."

It took only a few minutes for the carriage to be called. After thanking their hostess and the Baron they climbed inside and set off on the journey back to the estate. The wheels roll across the dirt paths at a steady pace; the carriage covered by the cover of night. Leaning back in the seat, Christine smiled at her fiancée across from her.

"That was quite a nice meal," Christine said softly.

Raoul nodded. "Yes, though there is only so much time I can spend with the Baron."

Christine chuckled. "I imagine." She paused and bit her lip. "Did you mean it, Raoul? About my singing? And I heard that the opera is being rebuilt."

"Yes, of course, Christine." Raoul's smile faded slightly. "However, you know that going back there is not a possibility."

"Why not?"

Raoul clenched his teeth. "That place is cursed and I will not put you in danger." He sighed. "Besides as a Vicomtesse it would be unseemly for you to perform. And I thought I told you not to mention _him_ again."

Christine's eyebrows furrowed. "Why? I mean I know you asked it of me, but I only addressed him as my teacher and I cannot deny that he was-"

"He was not your teacher, Christine. He was only manipulating you to get what he wanted," Raoul said, raising his voice slightly.

"So the last ten years of my life has all been a lie?" Christine asked, frowning.

Raoul took a breath and sighed. "Christine, must we fight about this? I only meant that you must understand the phantom was a dangerous man."

Christine sighed and leaned back into the seat. There was no point in arguing. Taking a deep a breath, she changed the subject. "And may I invite Meg and Madame Giry to the wedding? It came up in the parlor earlier."

Raoul shrugged. "That is not my choice. It is all up to my mother and sister in those matters. Though I'm certain they should be able to come."

Christine nodded, tightening her grip on her cloak. A semi comfortable silence fell over the carriage with neither of them speaking. Every so often, she glanced over at Raoul, but he seemed deep in thought. Sighing, she turned her attention to the outside world as she stared up at the stars. Closing her eyes, she let her mind drift away from the evening events and the wedding preparations to one her oldest friends and prayed that Meg was well wherever she was.

**Please review and constructive Critisim is always welcomed and let me know what you think and more coming soon. :)**


	2. Bells of Notre Dame

**Here is chapter 2. I own nothing. Once more a major thanks to by BETAer and the idea of the opera being a kingdom came from the awesome stories by Honeyphan, (The Quest and The Treassure) so that is her idea. The title of the chapter is from Disney's the Hunchback of Notre Dame which I do not own. Also I know it is short, but I hope you enjoy. **

The bright lights of Paris blocked the starlight as a lone figure stared out of a tenement window. Meg Giry watched silently as people hurried past, lost in their own thoughts in the late evening. She bit her lip as she glanced at the clock set upon the mantle: ten

"Where is he?" she whispered into the dimly lit room.

She had only lit one oil lamp so her mother would not wake. Anxiety filled her as she began to pace the small room, tightening her grip on her night robe. How could he just disappear like that after all her and her mother were risking? Once more, she glanced out of the window, but saw no sign of the shadowy figure that had become a heavy presence in her life.

Leaning her head against the glass, she sighed. "Where are you?"

"Meg Giry, what in God's name are you doing up so late?" a stern voice asked.

Startled, Meg spun around and caught sight of her mother in the doorframe. The old ballet mistress wore a long black night robe with her brown, gray hair pinned in a bun upon her head. Dark, stern eyes stared at Meg as she twirled a piece of blonde hair around her finger.

"I…I couldn't sleep, Maman." She paused and sighed, unable to lie. "And I have no idea where the phan-I mean Monsieur Erik has gone. I'm sorry."

Her mother shook her head. "Oh don't worry about that, child. I know he has gone though I do not understand why."

"But Mamam, doesn't he know he is a wanted man? Why would he chance going out?"

A low, dry chuckle erupted from the shadows near the door. "Oui, I know, but have you forgotten my reputation so soon, little Meg?"

Both mother and daughter turned toward the voice, startled at the sudden, silent appearance. After a moment, Madame Giry shook her head and folded her arms over her chest. "Where were you, Monsieur?"

"I was out, Madame."

"Where were you?"

The shadowy figure moved closer to the hearth, keeping to the shadows. "Must you treat me like child?"

"We were just worried about you," Meg said before a yawn escaped her.

In the firelight, she caught a glimpse of his fierce blue eyes, filled with annoyance. "I do not need anyone's concern, my dear. Now get to bed before your mother kills us both."

Meg nodded and suppressed a shiver as she turned and left the room.

Once the door was closed, Madame Giry sighed and looked at him. Silence fell around the room as she walked over and sat down near the empty hearth. She shook her head and placed her hand on the cold mantle. "Dear God, Erik what has gotten into you? You cannot just disappear whenever you please." She glanced back at her old friend. "You are not in the opera house anymore."

"I am well aware of that, Madame." He growled. "But I am in a jail here."

Madame spun around, her eyebrows knitted together. "A jail? I have in no way made it as such, Monsieur. And jail is where you would be, on your way to the gallows if you did not have us."

The dark figure stepped into the light. His black garments and the white mask on that hid the left side of face shone in the dim light. Yet, his eyes were filled with anger and exhaustion from the same arguments over the last few months. He sighed and ran his hand through his hair. They never got anywhere in their small fights and despite all their harsh words he could never bring himself to harm the older woman. She had been his only loyal friend throughout the years and he would not in danger that.

"Erik," Madame whispered, looking at him.

Shaking his head, he looked at her. "Don't wait up, Madame."

She opened her mouth, but he had disappeared. Closing her eyes, she shook her head and sighed. Despite all the years of friendship, he still surprised her with new fêtes of magic. Tightening the robe around her, she went and glanced out of the window. She stared down into the thinning crowds as they rushed past, unable to see her old friend.

X*X

The chilly evening air swirled around him as he continued to walk down the darkened alleyways. Keeping to the shadows, he pulled his hood further down over his face while his hand tightened on the rope hidden within his cloak. Even the most crowded places had uncertain characters. He shook his head, ducked into a deserted archway, and sighed. The argument with Madame had shaken him, reminding him of his past crimes. The rope in his hand had become his constant companion and most fierce weapon since he had first killed his gypsy master who displayed him as a freak show: the Devil's Child.

He remembered the cold steel bars of his prison. A cage…like the apartment had become in the last few months. In his opera kingdom, he ruled and could come and go as he pleased, but now he was trapped in another cage. The former Phantom of the Opera clenched his teeth as he shook the painful memories away and tightened his grip on the rope. Yet, he felt a wave of anger sweep through his veins, remembering the one who had escaped his lasso: the Vicomte de'Changy, the foolish boy who had stolen the heart of the young raising soprano.

"Christine," he whispered into the darkness. The simple name caused his heart to race as he uttered it once more.

He blinked as the sound of bells echoed across the city. Pigeons flew up into the starry sky as the former phantom peered out behind the alleyway to the large nearly deserted square. Quietly, he slipped out from the alley, walking across the square, unnoticed by the few scattered couples and a few street urchins. For a moment, his eyes rose toward the massive cathedral of Notre Dame as its bells continued to chime the hour across the square. The rose window shone in the moonlight as though its glow came from heaven itself. The chimes of the bells seemed to call the voices of angels with each ring in the still of the night. Anyone else would have felt praise, but he only frowned. He had never stepped foot inside church doors, after hearing tales of demons being struck down after stepping through the threshold.

Uneasily, his hand rose and brushed against the hood of his cloak. Staring at the grand cathedral, he cursed the lord. _How could you oh great Lord curse a innocent child to live in hell? To never know love from a mother or anyone else?_ Yet, his questions remained unanswered. He turned abruptly and walked down toward the Seine.

The river rushed past as he walked along the edge, all his senses on alert. Ducking beneath the bridge, he knelt down beside the water and removed his mask. His fingers traced the scars on his face and a bitter, hollow chuckle escaped him. He had been a fool to believe a pure creature of light could love a demon from hell.

_I can't go on like this wishing for something to happen_. He dug into his pocket and withdrew the engagement ring he had given Christine on that fateful night. He remembered her sorrowful face when she had returned it to him. _Returned it to torture me with all its false promises._ Clenching it in his fist, he raised his hand to throw the cursed ring away into the watery depths. He leaned over the bank, but paused and lowered his hand back down. He stared at his closed fist and shook his head, unable to fulfill the task. _How can I just abandon the one thing I have from her?_ The former phantom pushed himself away from the edge and replaced his mask.

A chilly breeze swirled around him as he walked out from beneath the bridge. For a moment, he looked up at the stars; the same ones that had watched over a crying child through iron bars and later had given light to a man who lived in darkness. They held a beauty, like silent guardian angels of the night, a beauty that no one paid attention to anymore with everyone lost in their own little worlds.

Erik chuckled at the idea. He had been an angel for his Christine, but it had only caused him more pain. Shaking his head, he pocketed the ring and continued to walk down the edge of the Seine, listening to the rushing water below and people from the square above.

Heavy footsteps pounded against the ground as two policemen walked into the square. Erik ducked down and cursed inwardly at himself as his grip tightened on the rope. How could he be so careless? The knowledge that he was a wanted man ran through his mind as he looked for an escape route. At the opera house, he had known every inch of the place, but now he was in unknown, dangerous territory. He quieted his breathing and pressed himself against the wall as he listened to the two policemen.

"Where is he? The damned criminal?" one of them asked.

"He was here, I saw him," a young boy said."I swear, Monsieur."

"Well where is he?" the second officer demanded.

"He was near Notre Dame."

"Really?" the first officer scoffed. "A demon seeking redemption. Now, where is he, boy?"

"He was over by the cathedral and then disappeared, Monsieur." The boy pointed off near the bridge, but the policemen shook their heads.

"We do not have times for games. Did you think you could lie and get the Vicomte's reward of 200 francs? Now, be off, boy. This is no laughing matter. Be off now," the second one said.

"I swear-"

"Go now! Before I arrest you for lying you filthy urchin!"

Erik winced as he heard a loud thud and a sharp cry from the child, but he remained silent. He pulled the hood further across his face and listened as the two officers walked toward the cathedral. Cautiously, he crept along the wall before he walked up a small flight of stairs, his footsteps silent against the stone. He glanced over his shoulder at the policemen and a tiny sly smile formed on his lips; even with the opera house destroyed no one could catch him.

_I'll have to thank that boy_. Erik thought as he turned and slipped into the darkened alleyways through the quieting streets of Paris.

**Please review and let me know what you think. And yes Christine and Erik will be seporated for a while to help set up the story. Oh and just (I know I am guilty of this too) but if you have put the story on your favorite list please leave some kind of review, because I know you like it and I would love tohear your comments both good and need improvement on so please try)And more coming soon. **


	3. Old Friend

**Here is the next chapter. I own nothing, except the small set of lyrics in the scene. :) The song title is from Love Never Dies (don't kill me) of "Dear old Friend" by Andrew Webber. Another histocal note at the end will be given and I hope you enjoy the chapter. :) Again major thanks to my BETAer Honeyphan. **

_Chris…tine_

She heard it again; his voice calling to her in her mind. Her eyes opened and she sat up, her eyes scanning her dimly lit bedchamber. Moonlight shone across the floor as she slid out of bed uncertainly. Her bare toes felt cold as she moved on the wooden planks to the window. Taking a deep breath, she ran her fingers through her hair. Had she just imagined the voice? The voice she had come to take comfort in even as a small scared child. Shaking her head, she turned and paused as she caught a glimpse of herself in the full length mirror near the wall. The golden frame glinted in the moonlight as she walked over to it. Cautiously, she laid her hand against the cool glass as she looked at her own refection.

"Come my child, I still have much to teach you," his voice whispered in her ear.

Christine glanced over her shoulder, but no one was there. Turning back around, she saw something white from within the mirror. She sighed in relief. Of course he was there, he had come to her through a mirror once before, why not again? She took a step back and whispered, "I'm here, Angel."

Yet, this time his voice was silent.

Terror seized her as she laid her hand against the mirror's surface. Her voice shook as she whispered, "Angel?"

Still no response; the white mask remained unmoving behind the glass. Panic seized her as she stared at her reflection and her silent angel. Kneeling down beside the mirror, she began to pound on the glass, calling out for her angel until her voice grew hoarse. Why would her angel remain silent? Was he angry with her for abandoning him to the mob? Tears prickled at her eyes as she continued to pound against the glass. He had told her to go that night in the belief he would be killed. Yet, she had felt his presence as she sang for the woman earlier that evening. She had drawn from all her lessons and had sung calling on his presence to help her.

"Mon Ange please….I need more of your teaching," she begged.

Still, he did not respond. Panic rose inside of her and she slumped against the half broken mirror; tears rolled down her face; the fragments glass now scattered upon the floor. Why was her angel silent now? Why would he not open the mirror and lead her down to his home by the lake? She closed her eyes and continued to sob.

Someone was shaking her and calling out her name. Blinking, she saw her bedchamber come into focus. A fire blazed in the hearth, filling the chamber with its warmth as she was brought back to reality. She stared into Raoul's face confusion clouding her mind; it was the middle of the night. Surely this was most improper.

Her eyebrows furrowed. "Raoul, what are you doing in here?"

"I heard noises and…." His voice trailed off as she gently pulled out of his embrace.

Taking a step backward, she heard something crunch beneath her feet. Startled, she jumped back and stared down at the broken glass on the floor around the mirror. Pain shot through her as she felt something wet roll down her arm. She looked down and gasped at the small lines of blood running down her wrists. Christine bit her lip and raised her gaze to look at her half reflection. Bits of glass and blood were caught in her tangled hair while her eyes were wide with fear and confusion. Gradually, she laid her hand against the remaining glass and shivered.

"Christine, what for the love of god happened in here?" Raoul asked, anxiously taking a small step forward.

She did not look at him. "He….my angel of music was here in the mirror."

"Christine, why are you bleeding?" Raoul asked, concern now filling his voice.

Christine glanced over at him. "I was trying to get to him."

Exhausted, she collapsed against him; her blood staining his white nightshift. She felt his arms wrap around her as he stroked her hair. He said nothing, but tightened his grip around her shoulders, protectively. She felt herself tremble against him as she continued to cry in confusion and terror. What was wrong with her? Had it all been just a dream? No, she had heard him calling to her. Once more, she shook her head and buried her face into Raoul's chest and allowed herself to be lead back over to the bed. She sat back down as Raoul ordered the servants to bring cold water and bandages.

Turning back to her, he asked, "Christine…what do you mean…you were trying to get to him?"

Christine shrugged uncertainty.

"You know I think it's time to see a doctor," he said softly.

"But Raoul I'm not sick. It was just a dream really."

He pulled away from her and gestured to the broken glass. "Christine, no normal dream causes you to harm yourself like this. He still has power over you doesn't he?"

Uncomfortably, Christine shifted away from his touch and looked down at her wounded hands. Could Raoul be right? His words made sense, but she knew she had heard her sweet angel calling to her. How could both be true? She shook her head and glanced over at the glass fragments glinting in the firelight.

She took a deep breath. "Raoul, I know he was here. I heard him I swear to God."

Raoul sighed and shook his head. "Christine, my love please…."

A knock at the door interrupted him as a young maid entered the chamber. The young girl gave a small curtsy and walked over to the bed, her eyes growing wide as they landed on Christine's bloody hands.

"Oh my…well let's get you cleaned up, Mademoiselle," the young maid said, setting the bowl on the bedside table.

Raoul nodded. "Oui, thank you, Jamie." He kissed Christine on the forehead and stood up. "Good night, Christine."

"Good night," Christine said solemnly.

Silence fell around the room as the maid washed and bandaged her bruised hands. She barely acknowledged the pain from the cold water, lost in her own thoughts. How could this have happened? Why had she felt his presence? Closing her eyes, she remembered the events from earlier that evening when she had felt his presence too. She remembered his words from the Bal Masque claiming that she had not yet reached her full potential.

"Miss…may I ask what happened?" Jamie asked, wrapping clean white bandages around her arm.

Christine sighed and looked down at her hands.

Jamie bit her lip and bowed her head. "Pardon me, Mademoiselle, it's not my place." She cut the last piece of cloth. "There I'm done and the damage does not look too bad. I would only suggest you be careful for a few days. Now, why don't we get you back into bed?"

Warily, Christine nodded. "Oui, merci Jamie."

"Of course, Mademoiselle." Jamie set the water and bandages on the bedside table.

Carefully, she helped her new mistress slide back under the covers. Christine winced for a moment before she settled down into the pillows. She watched as Jamie stoked the fire and began to sweep up the broken glass with a small broom.

"You don't have to do that. I'll do it," Christine yawned. "In the morning."

Jamie's head snapped up and she looked at her. "Oh no, Mademoiselle. That will not do. These are my orders as is the order to remain with you all night should you need anything."

"You really do not-"

"These are my orders," Jamie said simply before returning to her task.

Christine sighed and gingerly rolled onto her other side. Her heart tightened as she listened to the glass shift as Jamie swept the fragments up. In vain she closed her eyes to block out the sound and the pain in her hands. Despite the clean bandages, she still felt the blood against her skin and her stomach knotted. What was wrong with her? How could everything change so much in such a short amount of time?

_The wedding is only two months away._ Christine shivered and slowly brought the cover up around her chin. _How am I going to stop these dreams?_

Those same thoughts continued to run through her mind until at last she slipped back into slumber.

XxX

Late the next morning, sunlight shone through the windows as Christine made her way through the empty corridors. Breakfast had been quiet with only the Comtesse as company. She was told Raoul was busy with other important matters to attend too. Yet, Christine could not get the image of his fearful gaze out of her mind. A tiny smile spread across her face as she looked down at the flowers in her gloved hand. The gardener had allowed to her pick them as a gift.

Turning a corner, she paused; the sound of voices caught her attention. Her eyebrows furrowed as she listened.

"It is perfect. I have seen so myself," a male voice said.

"I don't know….what is it like?" Raoul asked.

"Oh Raoul it is a respectable place I assure you," his companion said. "And from what you have told me it seems like it would be a helpful place indeed."

"Yes, but…" Raoul's voice trailed off as he heard the door creak. He glanced over and smiled. "Oh, Christine, what are you doing here?"

Christine blushed and pushed the door open. "I did not mean to interrupt. I was just passing by to put these flowers in the dining room before my lessons with your mother."

Raoul walked over to her and kissed her on the cheek. "How sweet of you, Christine. And how are you feeling this morning?"

"I'm fine, Raoul. I…." She glanced over and blushed in embarrassment, dipping into a small curtsy. "Oh pardon me, Monsieur de Chagny. I did not expect to see you back so soon. I thought you were traveling in Spain on business."

The older man chuckled slightly. "Yes, I was, but I was called back here unexpectedly. And I believe we are past formalities, Christine and my name is Philippe."

"…Of course, Philippe." Unconsciously, she tugged at the hem of her gloves. "And I am well, thank you. How are you?"

The Comte was dressed in a navy business suit with his black hair tied back. Picking up a glass of brandy, he looked between Raoul and Christine. His blue eyes bore into her as he said, "I'm very well, thank you. However, I understand you seem to have some nerves about the wedding is that correct?"

Christine glanced over at Raoul. Yet, the Comte continued. "It is nothing to be ashamed of and I was just telling my son of a nice place in the southern part of France just outside of Paris which might help relieve you of your nerves. A nice country place. I believe you traveling girls like the country to get away for a few days from the pressures in your pretty heads."

"Oh…Monsieur, Philippe, that is very kind of you, but I'm perfectly fine," Christine said, smiling.

Raoul turned to her. "But Lottie you have seemed a little…uneasy lately with all my mother's lessons and the plans for the wedding. I think it would be best just too….get away for a little while. Don't you agree?"

Christine pressed her lips together and looked up at him. Could they be right? Was it only the wedding plans getting to her and making her so nervous? Perhaps a break could do her some good. After a moment, she nodded. "All right…when shall we go?"

"Oh right away. After all you must be back in time for your wedding?" the Comte looked between her and his son.

Christine nodded uneasily. "Does your mother know of these plans?"

"I shall tell her while you are directing the servants on the packing. Now go get ready. We shall leave in two days," Raoul said, smiling at her.

Again, Christine nodded and quietly slipped out of the room.

Outside, she sighed and leaned back against the door, questions flying through her mind. The idea sounded too good to be true. Getting away from all the pressures and gossip sounded wonderful. A small wave of nausea swept through her as her hand brushed against the other; the dried blood and bandages rubbing against her gloves uncomfortably. She took a deep breath and began to smooth down her dress.

_Perhaps we can see Madame Giry and Meg when we stop in Paris._ She smiled faintly at the idea before she turned and walked down the empty corridor toward the sitting room. Yet, she could barely keep her excitement hidden during her lessons with the Comtesse and her soon to be sister in-laws. She could only repeat the notion over in her mind: _only two more days until we are free._

X*X

The carriage rolled over the pavement and cobblestones of Paris. Christine glanced out of the window, watching the familiar rush and hustle of the crowds. Shopkeepers and others were called out their goods to passersby while the people kept hurrying past. Young couples and friends talked in hushed or loud laughing tones likely at some gossip they heard. Others kept to themselves and just walked along the streets without paying attention to anyone else. The tall buildings and tenements loomed over the crowds, their brick and sturdy walls surrounding the city.

Christine sighed, leaning back against the seat, and looked over at her fiancé. He wore his usual navy business suit with his hair combed, but loose around his face. A folded newspaper lay beside him from earlier that morning, but he had not read much of it, his eyes always on Christine. She felt a faint blush creep onto her cheeks as she stared at him and lowered her eyes onto her lap.

"Do I have something on my face?" Christine asked softly.

Raoul shook his head. "No, but is it a crime to stare at your beautiful fiancée?"

"Of course not." Christine raised her head and smiled at him. "How much longer till we get there?"

"It should be only a few hours, after nightfall, since it is in the outskirts of the city. Why do you ask?"

Christine opened her mouth, but paused. She began to fiddle with her gloved hands, uncertainly. She took a deep breath. "Well…I was wondering if we might stop and see Madame Giry and Meg. I have not seen them since the Opera House was destroyed."

"Christine, we are meant to be there be tonight," Raoul reminded her.

"Please-it would only be for an hour or so."

Raoul paused. "Do you even know where they are staying?"

"Yes, Meg sent me their near address in one her early letters. They are staying at an apartment three blocks away from Notre Dame. I believe it is to the west."

After a moment, Raoul nodded. "Very well, but the visit cannot be more than an hour. Do you understand?"

Christine nodded. "Yes, Raoul. Oh, thank you so much!"

Raoul smiled. "Of course, I could never deny my Little Lottie anything."

He thumped the couch and gave the address to the driver who turned down another crowded street.

Soon, they arrived at a brick building. Raoul ordered the driver to stay before he hurried Christine inside and up the three flights of stairs to the correct room. Madame Giry opened the door and stared at them, her face pale. After a moment, she smiled at them.

"Oh goodness what do I owe the pleasure, Monsieur de Chagny and Christine?" She asked, looking between the couple.

"Christine wanted to visit since we were in the area," Raoul explained.

Madame Giry nodded as she glanced over her shoulder back into the room. Her back seemed to stiffen for a moment before she turned back and stepped aside for them to enter. Closing the door behind them, she said, "Would either of you like some tea?"

"Yes, thank you Mad-"

A crash from the second bedroom echoed through the small room. The trio exchanged glances before Madame excused herself to see what the trouble was. Yet, the next moment Meg came running out and hugged Christine tightly. The blonde pulled away and smiled at her old friend.

"Dear God, Christine what are you doing here?" Meg asked excitement and happiness shinning in her eyes.

"I came to visit you. How have you been? You look wonderful," Christine said, smiling.

Meg blushed. "Oh I don't know about wonderful, but look at you, Christine you look like a queen…"

Madame Giry cleared her throat. "Perhaps you young ladies would like to continue your conversation alone."

Christine bit her lip and blushed. "Oh pardon me, Madame, I forgot myself, but tea would be lovely."

Raoul smiled at her. "No, Christine, you and Meg should get caught up, but remember you only have an hour."

"Thank you, Raoul," Christine said, smiling at him.

Meg mumbled her gratitude and grabbed Christine's hand as they went into her room. The two friends sat on the small bed and began to catch up. Oil lamps filled the room, contrasting the gray sky outside. For a few moments, Christine was reminded of cold winter nights in the ballet dormitories where the other girls would gossip and joke with each other. As a child, she had never shown interest in the silliness of the others, but now it brought a sense of calm familiarity to her. She listened eagerly as Meg told her stories of what had been going on in her life over the last few months and some of the other ballet chorus girls around the city.

When she was done, she asked, "So, where are you going?"

"Oh I don't know much, but it is some place in the suburbs of Paris. Raoul thinks it will be good for me to get away a few days before the wedding."

"Do you know the name of the place? Perhaps Maman and I could come visit you," Meg exclaimed.

Christine shook her head. "I cannot remember the name, I'm sorry. But may I ask what happened in your mother's room?"

Meg's smile faltered for a moment as she looked away from her friend. "Oh…nothing I was dusting and the vase broke. You know I can be so clumsy at times."

"You clumsy?" Christine said, teasingly. "I do not believe you were ever clumsy at the opera."

Meg blushed. "Yes, well many things have changed."

Christine nodded. "I suppose that's true."

Meg opened her mouth but paused as she heard her mother calling to her. "Excuse me, Christine, but Maman wants me to check on something. I shall be right back."

Again, Christine nodded as Meg scurried out of the room. Christine sighed and looked down at her hands; her gloves hiding her secret. She remembered a time when she could tell Meg anything, but now something stopped her from voicing her concerns and fears. Taking a deep breath, she got up and walked over to the small bureau and stared at her reflection. From the outside, she was the picture perfect woman to become the Vicomtesse. Yet, she knew something had changed inside. Christine turned away; now was not the time to think of her approaching role when she and Raoul were to be off on a vacation.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a book sticking out from a small shelf covered in dust. The book was a worn out brown color with no title or any other distant markings on the cover, spine or back. Curiously, she went over and picked it up, but still there was no sign of a story or what type of book she held.

_Meg never kept a journal_. Christine slowly rotated the book in her hands. A loose piece of paper slipped out and landed on the floor at her feet. Biting her lip, she set the book back and picked up the folded sheet of paper. Dark ink bled through the piece as she unfolded it. Six verses were written in a slow, unfocused hand. It was not fit for an opera, but she felt the potential of the words as she read them quietly. As she read, she imagined the music itself floating along with the unfinished and unpolished song.

_**No one will listen**_

_**No one sees**_

_**Under the endless sea**_

_**Of notes glistening**_

_**On a worn out page**_

_**In a dark world of the unknown light**_

Christine paused as the last word fell away from her lips. She had been holding out the word as though she was singing. A tiny smile curled at the corners of her lips as she felt the tingle in her throat from her action.

Footsteps down the hall startled her. She spun around to see Meg standing in the doorway. Quickly, she stuffed the piece of paper in her pocket as she forced a smile. "Yes, Meg what is it?"

"Raoul only wanted me to tell you it is time to leave," Meg said.

Christine's smile slipped. "Already? Oh I wish we had more time."

Meg nodded as she walked toward her friend. "I know but I'm certain we can visit you when the time is appropriate. Now come, we would not want to keep your fiancé waiting." Meg smiled and walked out of the room again.

Taking a deep breath, Christine followed her into the kitchen area. Raoul stood up and walked over to her. The four friends bid each other farewell before the young couple left the tenement and went back down into the streets. Raoul helped Christine into the carriage, and they were again off on their journey.

"Did you enjoy your time with Meg?"

Christine nodded. "Oh yes, and thank you Raoul. It meant a lot to me."

"I could not deny you anything, my dear, you know that." Raoul smiled at her and picked up the discarded newspaper beside him.

Christine glanced back out the window. A tinge of guilt burned in her as she remembered the piece of paper in her pocket, but she tried to ignore it. What could be done now? She sighed and continued to look out of the window, until the tenement was out of sight.

XxX

Dark clouds hung in the air as the carriage came to a slow halt. The driver climbed down and opened the door for his master. Raoul surveyed the area before he turned and offered his hand to Christine. She smiled as she stepped down next to him and looked around. From the noisy Paris streets, the place was completely silent and cut off from the rest of the world. Trees surrounded the outskirts of the large estate. Oil lamps shone in the front windows of the building, revealing the faded yellowish brick. Yet, the rest of the windows were pitch black.

_Well it is late_, Christine reasoned as she looked over at Raoul. She placed a hand on his arm. "This is the right place, Raoul, isn't it?"

Raoul gave a small nod. "Yes, it is, Christine. Is something wrong?"

"No, but it is a little chilly…" Her voice trailed off as the door opened.

A man stepped out, with a lantern in hand, and walked over to them. From the lantern light, Christine saw he was an older man and wore a black suit. His cool blue eyes grew wide as he lifted his lantern and saw the couple.

"Good evening, Monsieur de'Changy, it is a pleasure as always," the man said as he gave a small bow. His gaze shifted over to the young woman. "Ah, we have been expecting you. Won't you come in?"

Without another word, he turned and walked back up the steps. Christine felt her hand tighten on her cloak as Raoul wrapped his arm around her shoulders. She glanced over her shoulder, listening to the driver taking down the luggage. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath and the two headed inside.

The front room was narrow and led to many different rooms. People in white and navy uniforms hurried down the corridor without any attention the new arrivals. A fire was lit in the hearth off to the right; the flames cast an eerie glow across the dark green walls. Despite the uniformed people, the rest of the building seemed as silent as a grave. The man placed the lantern down and knocked on the first door. After a moment, he opened it and motioned for the couple to follow him inside. Christine glanced over at Raoul, but he said nothing and followed the man inside. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath and followed her fiancé into what appeared to be an office.

The same green paint from the hall covered the room. Some small documents hung on the wall across the top of a bookshelf on the right. Another fire burned in the room's hearth illuminating the large desk in the center. A tall, middle aged man sat behind, his head bowed over a pile of papers. After a moment, he looked up and looked at Christine. His steel blue eyes took her in before settling on Raoul.

"We were wondering when you would arrive, Monsieur. I trust the journey went well," the man said, standing up.

Raoul nodded. "Yes, it took a little longer than expected, but it went quite well, Monsieur."

"I'm Monsieur Laurent."

Once more, Raoul nodded. "Yes and this," He turned and smiled. "This is my fiancée Mademoiselle Christine Daae."

Monsieur Laurent nodded, looking at her closely.

Christine felt herself blush under his scrutiny and lowered her eyes onto the floor. Despite the warmth of the fire, she felt a shiver run down her spine. She glanced over at Raoul, but he said nothing.

_What is going on here?_ Again, she shivered as she felt the man watching her. Pulling her cloak tighter around herself, she began to feel safer as an image of the lyrics ran through her mind. Hidden within her cloak, she could hear her made up melody for the song. Music always calmed her fears.

"Christine, what are you doing?" Raoul asked, breaking into her thoughts.

She blinked. "What?"

"You were humming a song, but I didn't recognize it."

Monsieur Laurent shook his head. "I didn't know it either, Mademoiselle. Did you hear that from somewhere?"

"No, I made it up myself. My teacher taught me how to think about the melody's connection to the lyrics."

"Your teacher?" Monsieur Laurent asked, making a small note on a pad of paper.

Christine nodded. "Yes, he taught me a lot."

"When was the last you spoke to him?"

She paused and ran her fingers over her wrists. "Five months ago after the fire at the opera house."

Again, the man scribbled something on the pad.

She glanced over at Raoul and yawned. "Raoul, I'm sorry, but I am very tired from the journey. May I retire for the night?"

"Yes, but I have business to attend to with Monsieur Laurent."

She nodded as the other man gestured to his assistant. "Please escort Mademoiselle Daae to the proper room, Henri."

Henry bowed and moved over to the door, waiting.

Christine nodded in gratitude and looked over at Raoul. "Good night, Raoul."

"Chris…." His voice trailed off as he moved his hand and caressed her cheek. Their eyes locked as he ran his fingers through her hair. "Good…night, Christine. Sleep well. And I must tell you I might not be here when you wake."

Christine blinked. "Why not?"

"I have other business to attend to early tomorrow morning," he said.

"Oh, well good night then and I will see you later," she said.

Raoul nodded and kissed her forehead. "Good night, Little Lotte."

Without another word, she moved away to the door. As the door began to close, she paused as she heard Raoul speak to the man again. "Do you remember what I told you about-?"

The door slammed shut as Henri stood before her with a lantern in hand. With a gentle nod, he turned and began to walk away from her. Reluctantly, she followed him as he led them along corridor after corridor. Darkness surrounded them as they kept walking; their footsteps echoing on the wooden floors and steps. Closed doors and silence filled the passageways until she became lost in the maze of doors and similar walls. Again, she imagined the way to her angel's home; the endless corridors and pathways which could lead to death if one did not know where to go. Yet, with her angel leading the way she had always felt safe. With Henri, it felt different. He did not make any attempt at conversation or anything, only continued walking further away from the front of the building.

After a few minutes, he paused at a door, knocked, and turned to her.

"Here you go, Mademoiselle. Madame Richards will take care of you from here," he said.

"Merci…" Her voice trailed off as he turned and walked back the way they came. She blinked and rolled his words over in her mind. What did he mean take care of? Was she not going to be with her fiancé? The door opened and she turned to see a young woman standing before her with a lantern. Her wry green eyes flashed in the light while her brown hair curled around her face. She looked at Christine.

"Ah, so you are the new one," Madame Richards said coolly.

Christine's eyebrows gathered in confusion.

"Well don't just stand there you daft girl. Come in," Madame said.

Christine shook her head. "No, I think you must be mistaking me for someone else."

"You are Mademoiselle Daae?"

Christine nodded.

Madame stepped aside and gestured for her to enter. Biting her lip, Christine slid inside the room and heard the door close behind her. The room was small with only a large metal tub in the right corner, a table and a screen nearby.

"Undress please," Madame said, settling the lantern on the table.

Christine blinked and looked at her.

Madame picked up a pad of paper, repeated the order, and added, "It is policy and a warm scrub is always good before bed."

Carefully, Christine walked over and undressed behind the screen. The fabric fell to the floor with ease and Madame helped undo the corset. For a moment, she was grateful for her life in the Ballet dormitories and being able to undress in front of others without embarrassment. Yet standing naked before the woman, Christine felt a shiver ran through her body. Uneasily, she walked over and sank into the tub of clean hot water.

"What happened here?" Madame asked, pointing to her bandaged hands.

Christine cradled her right hand in her left. "Oh, I…there was some broken glass that I tried to clean up, but my hands got cut."

Madame nodded and scribbled a note on a pad of paper. "You may want to remove the bandages; the water can help heal those cuts from infection."

Christine nodded, turned away from the woman, and sank down into the water to enjoy her bath.

When she finished, Madame Richards handed her a white nightgown.

Again, Christine blinked. "I have my own."

"This is just for tonight," Madame said. Turning on her heel, she picked up the lantern and walked into the next room with Christine following behind.

Snores and voices surrounded her on all sides as she walked further into the room. From the lantern light, she saw rows of beds lined up against the wall, like a dormitory. High windows lined both sides of the room. A musty smell filled the area as she continued down the rows of beds. Thin cotton blankets and sheets covered women who lay sound asleep. Confusion swam through her mind as she paused and looked over the four rows of beds.

"Madame, I think there has been a mistake. I do not belong here I'm meant to be with my fiancé," Christine said.

Madame glanced over her shoulder. "There is no mistake, my dear. You are in the woman's ward of the Bicetre hospital."

Panic rose in Christine's chest. A hospital? This had to be a mistake! She looked at all the other woman and felt terror rise in her heart. Without thinking, she turned and ran back to the door. She pulled open the door and ran out into the hallway; her feet slamming against the floor. _Raoul, where is he? Angel please help me! My angel please!_ In the dark, she heard footsteps following her as she tried to find her way out of the maze.

She turned a corner and felt her foot slip out from beneath her as she crashed onto the wet floor. Her head throbbed as she heard the footsteps coming closer. Rough hands grabbed her. She tried to call out and scream, but her voice only echoed off into the silent passageways. She began to kick and claw at her captors as they pinned her to the floor. A wet cloth came over her mouth and nose, pressed hard against her face. Involuntarily, she took a breath of a sweet, wet odor from the cloth as the world began to grow hazy.

_Angel…hel…_Her thoughts trailed off as she slipped into darkness.

**On one note. Yes I understand that Philippe was the name of Raoul's bother, but since this is based on the 2004 movie, the brother does not exist. Also it was commen to name sons after their father so it is possible for the father to have been Phillippe too. **

**Historcal note: Bicetre hospital is a real hospital in the suburbs of Paris in France which is used as a real hospitla today. It was used as an Insane Asylum for men in the 1700s through the late 19th century. In 1793, Phillippe Pinel became the chief physicianof the place. He was a humanist and helped to remove the patients from their shackles and began to treat them more humanily with talking to the patients and only using straightjackets and times of suclusion as punishments. **

**I have taken only one liberty in this storry is by adding the woman's ward in the asylum. There was an asylum for women directly in Paris called, Hospice de La Salpêtrière, which again is now properly used and Phillippe Pinel did become a doctor there too in 1795 and did simular treatments for the paitents. The idea behind making a woman's ward in Bicrtre was the location in order to help my story progress. **

**Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the chapter and please leave a review with some constructive advice and I there will be more soon. :)**


	4. Something is Not Right

**Hi, it's me again with another chapter. Thank you for my BETAer who really helped me in the chapter. Again another historical note will be at the end of the chapter and the title is from the movie Madeline Lost in Paris (I used to watch it as a kid). I hope you all enjoy my second chapter for the weekend. :)**

White and gray were the first colors she saw when she awoke. Her head throbbed as she tried to push herself up. Blurry memories swept through her mind as she tried to remember the events from earlier. Closing her eyes, she remembered a maze of dark corridors with a silent man leading her through them.

_There was a room like a dormitory and a woman who gave me cloths._ She blinked and pushed herself up onto her elbows, ignoring the pain in her head. For a moment, she looked down at the foot of the bed and saw an unadorned gown of dark blue. Unconsciously, she began to run her hands up and down her arms, but paused at the unfamiliar fabric beneath her fingers. She glanced down and saw the simple white cotton nightgown she now wore. Once more, panic rose inside her as she pushed herself up and looked around the deserted chamber. Four rows of empty beds filled a white and gray room. The beds were neatly made with the dull colors covering the thin mattresses in each row. No pictures or any other ornamentation hung on the plain walls. Only a few fragments of sunlight shone from the high olive windows above the dirty, dusty floor.

Despite the pain in her head, she began to climb out of the bed. Yet, the world now swirled around her and she sat back down, pressing her hand to her forehead. Everything was so confusing as she tried to shake away the strange feeling. Once more, she tried to concentrate on the events of last night, but it was all a blur in her mind. Where was she? Her hand brushed against the ring on her left hand.

Closing her eyes, she whispered, "Raoul."

She spun around at the sound of a door opening, but paused as a young woman entered. The woman looked to be only a few years older than her dressed in a simple uniform of gray and white. She smiled at seeing Christine and walked over to her. "Oh Bonjour, Mademoiselle. I'm glad to see you are awake."

Christine stared at her. "Bonjour, um…where is-?"

"Everyone else, they are just finishing breakfast and then will go into the day room for their activities. Now get changed and come along." The woman walked over and began to help her change. "Oh and I'm Halette."

Christine nodded as she slipped her arms into the long sleeves. "I'm Christine and where am I?"

Halette nodded as she fastened the back of the gown. Taking a step back away, she pulled her blonde hair up into a loose bun. "Did you sleep well?"

"Not really, Madame," Christine admitted.

Halette shook her head. "Oh no, it is Miss Halette."

Christine nodded as she placed a hand against her pounding forehead. Warily, she tried to follow the other woman for some answers. She staggered and gripped the bedpost for support. Halette came to her side and slid her arm around her shoulders.

"Oh now let me help," Halette said calmly.

Christine shook her head. "I'll be all right, but where am I?"

"You're in a very good place where you can get the help you need," Halette said.

Christine pulled away from her as flashes of memory came flooding back to her; the man asking her peculiar questions, a maze of black tunnels, and the woman holding the lantern. She tried to remember the older woman's words, but everything was still a blur. Taking a shaky breath, she asked, "May I see my fiancé?"

"And who is your fiancé?" Halette asked as though speaking to a child.

"The Vicomte de'Changy," Christine said.

Halette blinked and nodded. "Ah yes, we heard his fiancée was staying here."

"Yes, now may I see him?" Christine asked, trying to control her frustration.

Halette shook her head and walked toward the door. "All your questions will be answered by Madame Richards. Now come along."

"Wait…" Christine's voice trailed off as the woman began to walk further away.

Quickly, she ran after Halette following her through several corridors.

Hushed conversations were held behind closed doors while other hallways were completely silent. Streaks of sunlight flittered through the high windows with specks of dust glistening on the brick walls and floor. Footsteps echoed through the corridors as a few people in uniforms passed, but Halette paid them no attention. Christine kept close to her guide as she observed the other people in uniforms. Their faces were empty of emotion and they looked straight ahead as they walked past her, without a greeting or even acknowledgement of her presence.

_What is this…._

A shrill, fragile scream broke her thoughts as she scanned the deserted corridor. She looked at her guide, but Halette only sighed in irritation. Christine opened her mouth, but a set of footsteps cut her off as another woman rounded the corner in a hurry. She wore the same uniform, but her hair was unkempt as though she had just awoken. She bobbed her head to Halette as she passed.

"Bonjour, Miss. I'm sorry about her, I shall see to it," the younger girl said.

Halette nodded. "Oui, merci, we do not need that poor dear to hurt herself again."

The girl bobbed her head and scurried off down the hallway, slipping into one of the rooms, once more without any greeting to Christine.

The screaming soon faded as she stared at the closed door. Glancing over at Halette, she asked, "Who was that?"

"Oh, that was little Abella one of our helpers here," Halette said, turned and continued to walk down the corridor.

Christine followed. "No, I meant who was that person screaming. She sounded in such pain."

Halette did not look at her. "…That….was Laralaine, a poor woman who has her own demons to fight, always mumbling some type of nonsense. Now come along Mademoiselle Daae."

Christine blinked at the lack of concern or any compassion in Halette explanation of the distraught woman in the room. Christine wanted to question further, not even understanding why she had been brought here, but the older woman paid no attention to her as they continued walking.

At the end of the passageway, Halette turned and pushed open a door. "Here we are, Mademoiselle, this is the day room for the women who stay here. You will also engage in some actives with them. "

Christine sighed. "Miss, may I please see my fiancé now?"

"That is not my place to say." She paused and ushered Christine inside. "Now in you go."

Sunlight streamed in through large, high windows of the day room, similar to the ones in the dormitory and other smaller windows which looked outside. A few women sat near the fire while others sat alone sewing or putting pens to paper. Young and old women filled the room, some only children. Yet, all of them wore similar dresses of the same dull blue, lumping the group of woman into a single unit with no sign of separate personalities. None of them talked to each other; each lost in their own thoughts. Some of them mumbled to themselves. Despite the number of people, Christine felt a sense of loneliness at the lack of conversation. She glanced behind her, but Halette had moved over to the group of women near the fire. Looking around the room again, she noticed three other women in uniforms stationed around the chamber, barely paying attention to any of the other women.

Christine shook her head and walked over to the trio. "Excuse me, but can one of you tell me when I may see my fiancé, the Vicomte de'Changy ?"

The three women looked at each other and back at her. The eldest one examined Christine with cold blue eyes as though looking for something.

After a moment, she shrugged and said, "Who are you?"

Christine blinked, confused. "My name is Christine Daae and may I-"

"Ah, the new girl," the woman said, clapping her hands together. "I'm Miss Joella. Why don't you come over here and get started on some sewing." She spoke as though addressing a child and pointed to a spot in the far left corner of the room.

Christine shook her head. "Thank you, but no I-"

"Or perhaps some drawing?" the second woman offered.

"No, thank you. I only wish to see my fiancé-"

"I'm afraid that is impossible, though I'm surprised to have another one of nobility here," the third one said quietly.

"What do you mean?" All these quick comments seemed to worsen her head ache. Pressing her hand to her forehead, she sighed in frustration.

"Oh we had-"

"It is nothing to concern yourself with," Joella said. "Are you all right?"

Once more Christine shook her head and began to speak, but a fourth voice broke her off. She looked over at the door and saw Madame Richards standing on the threshold, staring at her. For a moment, Christine felt herself shrink as though she were a small child as the older woman entered the room.

"What is going on here?" Madame Richards said, looking from the three staff members to Christine.

Christine gulped, but tried to sound confidant. "I want to see my fiancé now, please."

Madame Richards looked at her. "That is impossible, Mademoiselle."

"But-"

"Now my dear please don't get upset. Why don't you go and draw with the other women?" Madame Richards said, speaking slowly.

Christine sighed in frustration. Why were none of them listening to her? All of them dismissed her requests to see Raoul and all without answering any of her other questions. Shaking her head, she scanned the room again. Two women were looking at the small confrontation, but the others kept to their tasks as though in a trance. Christine shivered at the strange atmosphere as she stared at the other women. She glanced back over at Madame Richards, wincing under her cold gaze and began to feel like a child again. Yet, the memories of last night were still to hazy to form any questions except her demand to see Raoul or to know why she was here; both questions were denied.

_Why won't they let me see him?_ Yet, under the cool gaze of Madame Richards, Christine gathered that persistence would make matters worse. For now, she would play along. Taking a deep breath, she said, "Um…can I draw?"

Madame Richards nodded. "Yes, you can take a seat near the window."

Christine nodded and walked away from the staff members. A small table was set up near the window, separated from the others. Carefully, she sat down and picked up a discarded piece of parchment. Dipping the quill into the ink pot, she paused and glanced out of the window; the courtyard was lined with fresh green leaves, proving shade on the path in the July sun. A couple of women walked around, all dressed in the same gowns she wore. Would they also let her outside for fresh air? Maybe at the same time she could look for Raoul. She thought about asking, but seeing the severe expression of the staff members, as they appeared to watch and discuss her she changed her mind, already knowing what their answer would be.

Shaking her head, she turned her attention back to the empty piece of parchment. As a chorus girl, she had never had much time to master that particular art skill, though Meg had given her a few lessons and proclaimed she had some natural talent. Instead, Christine had separated her time between rehearsals for the chorus and singing lessons with her angel. A halfhearted smile slid on her face as an image of the time with her angel slipped into her mind. She felt her grip tighten on the quill as she dipped it into the ink pot again and began to draw. The silence of the room seemed to echo around her as the minutes passed. Closing her eyes, she began to hum a small tune of the angel's song he had sung to her during her first visit to his home by the lake. She felt the song pulse through her as she sang quietly to herself.

"Excuse me," Joella said.

Christine paused and looked at the other woman standing near her. "Yes, what is it?"

"We do not permit singing here, Mademoiselle. Not from any of our girls."

Christine stared at her in disbelief. "What do you mean, Miss?"

"We do not wish for people to sing such songs that would distract anyone from getting well."

"I'm afraid I do not understand. Are they ill?"

"My dear, surely you know that" she lowered her voice. "You are in the Bicetre hospital."

Christine stared at her. "I'm not sick, Miss. There must some mistake."

"Most people do not acknowledge they are sick when they must."

"But I'm not-"

Joella gestured to Christine's bandaged wrists. "Look at those and," she pointed to the unfinished picture. "What do you call those if you are not sick?"

Christine paused and looked down at her wrists. Uncomfortably, she ran her right fingers over her left wrist. Biting her lip, she lowered her eyes to the table. "It was an accident."

"Really? And what is this?" Joella asked, picking up the parchment. "Who is this you drew?"

Christine looked up at the parchment. It was an outline of a tall man with dark hair and a few scars covering half of his face playing an old violin. She remembered the tune he had played to comfort her as a child and smiled at the memory.

"Mon ange," she whispered, lost in her thoughts. A hand on her shoulder brought her back to reality as she looked up at the woman.

"Who is this?" Joella asked again.

"He…he was my teacher," Christine said gently. "He was the best…he sang like an angel…." Her voice trailed off uncertainly.

"Oh, dear. Your angel. Why do you say that?"

"My teacher just sang-"

"I know better. He's a monster, a demon!" She snatched the parchment from Christine, but she pulled at it until the piece ripped in half. Quickly, she stuffed the piece into her hand and folded both her hands behind her back. She felt all the eyes of the women on her at the sudden confrontation. Yet, this woman had no right to declare her teacher a monster. So many people judged others too quickly. Christine took a deep breath and looked back at the other woman.

"Give me that paper, Daae," Joella said firmly.

Christine shook her head. She would not give up another thing that reminded her of her Angel of Music. The very thought made her stomach twist as she felt the ripped piece of paper in her hand.

_Why are they trying to keep us apart?_ She paused as she remembered her angel's orders to leave and never return with the mob coming closer and closer to the lair that evening of the first and final performance of Don Jaon Triumphant. Christine took a deep breath and looked at the ground.

"Mademoiselle Daae, please hand over that piece of paper," Joella said, taking a step toward Christine.

"No, please…." Christine took a small step back.

Joella made a small gesture with her finger and two other staff members walked over to Christine. They grabbed her arms and tore the page from her hands and kept her restrained as she tried to take it back. Sudden tears began to roll down her cheeks as she watched the woman hand the piece to Halette.

"Get rid of it," the woman said, ignoring Christine's tears and fighting.

Halette looked down at the page and nodded without a word as she slipped from the room.

Joella turned back to Christine. Her eyes held no warmth, her face set in disapproval. Looking at the other two staff members, she said, "Take Mademoiselle Daae to the tub and then lock her in the dormitory for the remainder of the day. Perhaps she needs one more day to understand the rules."

Christine felt herself tremble as the two staff members half carried her out of the day room. What type of place was this? How could they destroy her art work and ban her singing, considering it dangerous, even evil to her health? Even the high society of Raoul's family and friends allowed people to sing for entertainment. She felt her stomach twist as she was led through the dark maze of corridors again. Where was her Knight in shining armor? Where was her protective angel?

**Historical Note. In 19th Century, people like Phillippe Pinel wanted to help the insane people who were in the asylums and began to treat people more humanly (though at times the treatment is questionable). The staff talked to people and the sewing and drawing was more to keep them quiet than real therpy (until later). Also, the wards that vistors were allowed to see were the best ones so many people did not know know what it was really like. Christine is in on eht best wards being Raoul's faincee. **

**Another note. some of my research came from a book called, Wildthorn by Jane Eagland, which is based (it's fiction) on real accounts of what women when through. **

**Anyway, please review and let me know what you thought and more coming soon. :)**


	5. Time Crawls By

**Hi, here is the new chapter. Thank you for my faithful reviews so far, it means a lot to me. The title is a lyric from "Till I hear you Sing from Love Never Dies which I do not own and I do not own anything, except the plot and my own characters. I hope you enjoy this new chapter :) **

"No! No it's trash all of it!" Alone in the guest room, Erik paced the length of it. His fingers clenched around loose sheets of music. The new piece held no ounce of emotion, his inspiration gone. Inwardly, he cursed himself for not taking better care of his music, even that underdeveloped set of lyrics. _What has hap….?_ He shook his head knowing the answer. His muse had left him to live in the world of light with the damned Vicomte. The couple was meant to live in complete happiness while he curled away like a wounded animal without even his music to comfort him. Yet, she had been here two months ago in the same tenement and had taken his music. Had she known these lyrics where his? Had she sensed his presence in the room?

_No, she left like she did before; she does not care for a devil like you._ Angrily, he tossed the few sheets into the blazing hearth and watched them turn to ash; the lyrics seemed to stare back at him mockingly at his lack of creativity. Closing his eyes, he shook his head and cursed under his breath. _Why must everything be taken from me?_ Even the gift of music was gone. He turned away and glanced at the drawn curtains over the window. For the millionth time, he felt more like animal as he stared at the boarded window, unable to get out.

A knock at the door broke into his musings as he turned toward the intruder entering the room. Meg carried a tray of bread, wine, and cheese in her hands as she looked at the former phantom.

Irritated, he asked, "What do you want?"

"What is going on in here?" She set the tray down on the dresser.

"That is none of your concern Little Giry…." He paused and took a breath, "But thank you for the meal though you are wasting your time."

Meg nodded. "Yes, but Monsieur please call me Meg. Everyone else does."

"I'm not like everyone else," Erik said firmly.

Meg sighed and looked at him. "Monsieur, is something wrong?" She gestured to the darkened ash paper. "Why did you destroy those?"

"It was all rubbish," he growled, looking back into the hearth.

The orange flames crackled gently as though singing a lament for the lost song now entrapped in it. Staring into the lapping flames, he remembered the candles which had filled his lair with their warm light and then the great fire of the Opera House. Fire was one of the strangest elements, a gift of life and death in one.

_Like me,_ Erik mused silently before he tore his eyes away from the hearth. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Meg still standing next to the dresser, watching him. He felt his blood boil in rage as he stared back at her; despite her innocent gaze, he felt like the small child named the Devil's Child. He clenched his fists. "Didn't your mother teach you not to stare? What do you want young one?"

Meg blushed and lowered her eyes. "Oh excuse me, I didn't mean to stare. I….only wanted to know if you were planning on using the piano."

"Why should it concern you?"

"I know the music you can create and I wish to hear more. Your Don Juan Trium-"

"Don Juan lost his triumph in a moment of haste and lost his everything," Erik cried, taking a dangerous step toward her. "Get out!"

"But-"

"Get out of here!" Erik flung his arm around and hit a vase, shattering it into a million pieces. He swore under his breath as he looked down at his bleeding hand. Four lines of blood ran down his arm as he searched for a bandage. In the distance, he heard Meg's footsteps retreating from the room. He found a cloth and pressed it to his wound and winced as he looked down the empty corridor after Meg. Why did he have to be so impulsive and let his rage control him? She was only a young, curious woman who wanted to help. He had watched her grow up along with Christine with a dream to become the Prima Ballerina; a dream that was shattered because of him. Why could he never do anything right?

Closing his eyes, he could still hear the gypsy master screaming at him for his wrong deeds and uselessness; the old scars on his back seemed to tingle as he remembered the fierce, regular lashes of the whip against his skin. Erik felt his body begin to tremble as he looked around the small room. He glanced over at the bordered window as his fingers ached to throw them back and see the world. Not the world of night crawlers, beggars, or thieves, but the world of light where his music could be heard and where he could walk and feel the sun.

Once more, he shook his head, shoving the urge away. None of that was possible for him. Through Christine's singing, he had felt the sun and all the joys of a world forbidden to him. He had made his music to be heard and teach others through it. Yet, now he could not find any inspiration and still hid from the world.

_Oh, why was I been born, if just to live in darkness?_ He growled low in his throat as an idea began to take hold, but he shook his head. No, he would never again give into the darkness of his soul that had destroyed everything he had ever created. Still, he could not pull his gaze away from the curtains.

"Erik, what is going on?" Madame Giry called from the door.

Erik glanced over at her. "What do you want, Madame?"

"Meg said you seemed upset and I-"

"I'm fine, Madam, no need to concern yourself over the Devil's Child," Erik said his voice laced with anger.

Madame Giry entered the room slowly. "Erik, you are not a devil, and I insist you stop thinking of yourself in that manner."

Erik chuckled darkly. "It is not so easy since I seem to cause havoc wherever I go."

Madame Giry sighed. "The opera house is being rebuilt. You know that. Though I fear the war may be getting worse."

"How can I know anything of a war locked away in here?" Erik said. "And the opera will never be the same as before."

"Because you are not there?"

"Precisely." His voice held a hint of dry amusement as he nodded.

Madame Giry glared at her old friend. "Your wretched pride is what destroyed everything to begin with and made you the most wanted man in France."

Erik opened his mouth, but paused as her words sank in. All of his earlier regrets resurfaced as he looked at the older woman. She was right, as always. She had warned him not meddle with the management, the cast or crew in fear of him being found out. She had even cautioned him getting involved with the young orphan Christine. Yet, the moment he had heard her voice he was entranced. Shaking his head, he pushed the memory away. _She is with the Vicomte now able to sing for him as she always wanted_.

Another recollection swept through his mind of the young lovers proclaiming their love for one another on the rooftop. He felt his fists clench, but he ignored the pain from his wound, as he looked over at the window and back at his friend. "I'm going out."

"No," Madame Giry said firmly. "And what happened here, Erik?" She gestured to his banged hands.

"You cannot keep me here like a prisoner and it is nothing to concern yourself with," Erik growled.

Madame Giry sighed and shook her head. "Why must you keep seeing it as a prison? I'm trying to keep you safe and alive."

Erik shook his head. "You don't understand, I've lost everything and what if I wish to die? Damn it, what if that is my destiny?"

"God would never-"

"There is no God, not for me. Why would a loving God cause so much pain and misery in one's life?" He took a deep breath, suddenly exhausted. He looked beyond her to the empty corridor. "She was here….here in this tenement, my Christine."

Madame Giry's gaze softened as she took a step closer to him. "Oui, she was, but so was the Vicomte"

"That foolish boy," Erik muttered.

"He could have you arrested and killed without a second thought."

Erik laughed softly and shook his head. "Oh yes because his other plan for me worked so well, did it not, Madame?"

"Erik, please stop this and come play for us."

"No."

"Why not?"

"I cannot play without my muse."

Madame Giry sighed. "Very well, but please remain here at least until nightfall." She turned, but paused at the threshold. "I do not wish to see you hurt even more."

Erik's head snapped up as he looked at her retreating figure. For a moment, he remembered the young ballerina who had saved him all those years ago. Despite her stern nature, that compassionate girl still lay within the woman. No other woman had ever shown any kindness to him except Christine.

He shook his head and looked back into the hearth. The fire's crackling seemed to echo around the empty room. Closing his eyes, he sighed. All those whom he had met had abandoned him, leaving him always alone in the end. His own mother had abandoned him by selling him into a gypsy circus, Madame Giry had her daughter, and his Christine was engaged to the Vicomte de Changy, and Erik was alone. Alone with the fire and the lonely emptiness of his life. Even music could not rescue him from the strange, defeated feeling in his heart. Shaking his head, he turned his attention to the discarded sheets of paper spread out on the table and set to work on a new piece if only to keep his mind away from his lost love for a few minutes.

XxX

The chilly late September wind swirled around Christine as she and the other patients were herded out into the courtyard. Dead leaves crunched under her feet as she and the other women walked the perimeter of the courtyard for their daily exercise. Yet, Christine did not feel any of it, her whole world now a haze of routine: patients awakened at eight, day room activities, a single hour of exercise, when patients were doing well, according to the staff members, they received three meals a day, and bed. Screams and other creepy noises anxiously kept her awake until the staff came around with a last drink of water, before she and the others drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

When she had first arrived, she tried to search for Raoul, but all in vain. After her first "sign of sickness" on her first day at the hospital, her world had become a blur and her body numb. Everything around her was lifeless with her body going through the motions without any emotion. Her life beyond the last month and a half did not seem to exist, except in vague flashes of memories when the drug's effect had lessened. Slowly, she walked along with the other women.

Barren trees and bushes had been planted in neat rows with small pathways between them around the courtyard. The high beige walls seemed to loom over her and the other women as they walked the six laps. A few offices and other rooms ran along the right wall with small roofs over each one to provide shade. Yet, just outside the walls, she heard the wind blowing through the trees while birds sang their freedom. Her heart ached as small bits of memories swirled around in her mind of Raoul promising to protect her and offering her freedom from the darkness of the phantom. He had left her alone in a prison from hell. Closing her eyes, she could vaguely hear him proclaiming his love on the opera rooftop so many months ago.

"_Let me be freedom. You know I do. Let daylight dry your tears. Say you'll share me with one love, one lifetime. Let me lead you from your solitude…All I ask"_

_._Her small musing was cut off as a staff member tapped her on the shoulder.

"Yes?" Christine's voice shook as though she were a child caught with a sweet treat. Her hand went to her throat and she gulped, a familiar sense of terror filling her as the older woman stepped closer.

"Were you just singing, my little Mademoiselle?" Joella asked, looking down at her.

Christine shrank away from her and shook her head. "No, Miss. I…"

"You know how we feel about such things."

"Yes, Miss." Christine nodded and lowered her eyes to the ground. Once more, she felt all the other staff members and women's gazes upon her as though she was an undisciplined child.

"I'm sorry, Miss, I did not mean to do so," Christine said in a monotone. "It won't happen again…" Her voice began to tremble. "I pro…promise."

Joella studied her for a moment and nodded. "Very well, continue with your walk."

Again, Christine nodded. She could not go back into the complete isolated darkness of the solitude dormitory. She shivered as she remembered the vile treatments that doctors performed on her. Each of them claimed it was for her own good and would help her. Shaking her head, she tried to push the cruel memories away and resumed walking. The other women had scattered off into the same small groups as the day room, talking in hushed whispers. Yet, it was the scattered conversation of the staff members which caught her attention.

"Did you hear her?"

"Oui, the shameful, pitiful creature."

"Ha, she deserves what she gets that little…blew it with that noble family."

_A noble family?_ Christine's eyes grew wide as the words ran over and over through her mind. Closing her eyes, Christine strained to hear more as the group kept walking. The loud footsteps and various smaller conversations kept things quiet. She began to feel a headache form, but she pushed through the pain as she tried to listen.

"Oh lazy Laralaine, the poor creature," one of the staff said, shaking her head.

Suddenly, Miss Joella turned and looked at Christine. "What are you doing?"

Christine shook her head. "No…Miss."

Joella narrowed her eyes at her, but said nothing. After a moment, she turned around and looked at the other staff members in disapproval. Clapping her hands, she turned to the rest of the group. "All right, ladies, get inside now."

Blank faces turned to their head mistress as they slowly headed back to the door. No one paid any attention to Christine as she bowed her head submissively. Yet, her mind was racing, fighting against all the confusion. What noble family had the lazy Laralaine disgraced? Who was the strange woman? Something snapped through the fog as Christine walked back inside; somehow she would see Laralaine and get some answers. Still lingering doubts crept into her mind as she heard the door slam shut, the near hopelessness of the task surrounding her.

**So what will happen? Please leave a review and I know it's a short chapter, but there you go. As to those who want Erik to resure Christine, these chapters are very important to the plot even when they are not together so please bear with me. Please review and more coming soon. :)**


	6. Someone In This House

**Hey I'm back. Here is another chapter. I own nothing, but the plot and my own characters. The title of the chapter is a lyric from the Musical The Secret Garden, "I heard someone Crying" which I do not own. I hope you enjoy and again a big thanks to my BETAer. :) Now onto the story. :) **

Raoul swirled the brandy in his glass as he watched the passersby from the window. It was the chaos and noise of the city which thrilled him and kept his mind off unpleasant things. Over the past month and a half, he had entertained himself with endless parties, meeting his friends, and other social activities. Yet, he could not forget Christine. It had been almost two months since he had seen her; a month since the official wedding date had passed. How much longer could he wait? How much longer would the city be safe? He took a sip from his drink and set it down at the desk before unfolding his mother's latest letter. For the fifth time, he reread it:

_My son, _

_I beg you to reconsider your decision to stay in Paris. The city is not safe for you with all this talk of war with those damned Germans, and with your father gone on business you are needed here. I understand your concern for-your fiancée, but your father assured me that the staff will report when the poor girl is better. However, you being in the city will not hasten the process. Please come home soon. _

_Sincerely, your loving mother _

Raoul stared at the letter before he set it done with a sigh. He knew his mother was only concerned for his safety, but he did not wish to be too far from Christine. He had watched her begin to spiral into madness over a demon from the depths of hell that still held power over her. To break the strong connection, he ordered the staff to prevent her from singing. He knew she loved music, but her health was more important. The calm pleasant staff, the colorful dayrooms, and the expansive courtyard to walk and enjoy nature all seemed the perfect remedy. Even some of the patients claimed to be content. It was the perfect place for treatment.

Taking a deep breath, he leaned back and ran his fingers through his hair. _Now all I need is the Phantom in my grasp. When he is gone maybe the spell will be gone too? _

A knock on the door broke into his musing. He turned and gave permission for the person to enter. A middle aged man dressed in a police uniform, stepped into the small study and gave a small bow.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, Vicomte, but I know you wished me to report if there had been any sightings of that madman."

Raoul sat up straighter. "What have you heard or seen Monsieur?"

"My men have seen a man dressed in black evening garments skulking around in back alleyways, but he can never be caught, we are certain it is the person you are seeking."

Inwardly, the Vicomte smirked. The infamous Opera Ghost had not lost his power of eluding the authorities; in another life that skill could have made him a great ally instead of a rival. Yet, people only had one lifetime and the demon needed to be brought to justice. Raoul pulled out a map of the city and spread it across the table.

"Have there been any repeated sightings in or around the same area?" He studied the map as he spoke.

The policeman shook his head. "Not that I'm aware of, Sir."

"Damn it," he muttered. "What other news is there?"

The policeman paused. "May I ask something, Sir?"

Absentmindedly, Raoul nodded, his eyes still fixed upon the map.

"What is this…obsession with this man?"

Raoul's head snapped up as he glared at the other man. "That man is a murderer and a beast that _must_ be brought to justice. Now are you certain there have not been repeated sightings?"

Again, the policeman paused. "Well, I have heard reports of the man returning to places, but never twice in a row. It is more like every three days."

"What are some of the spots?"

"Oh I have had men posted at those places, but we still have not-"

"Try harder!" Raoul cried, slamming his fist on the table.

The policeman backed away and bowed again. "Oui, of course Vicomte I will get on that at once and report back to you."

Raoul nodded and waved a dismissive hand. He watched the policeman retreat out the door. Taking a sip of brandy, he sighed in frustration at the vast landscape of the whole city. How could he find one single man within it? Yet the sooner he caught the monster, the sooner he and Christine could be reunited and back in the country as his mother wished. _Until then she is in safe hands._ With that thought, he began to study the map again.

X*X

Two days had passed since her small resolution to find out more about Laralaine, but no one spoke about her. The only opportunity would have to be in the evening, but she always fell asleep even when she wasn't tired. Christine lay awake, staring at the ceiling as the staff made their round with the other patients. _What makes them so tired after only doing simple __exercises__?_

Her eyes began to wander around the room as the staff gave people their last drink before bed. Somewhere in her clouded mind something snapped. The water! A sleeping draft like in the opera_ Tristan ad Isolde_. Why had she not seen it before? With the new revelation, she began to form a more solid plan. Closing her eyes, she tried to run through it again; it seemed so simple: no swallowing the evening water, wait till it was quiet then slip out and find Laralaine. Simple, but not easy to carry out. Anxiety pulsed through her as she watched the other patients beginning to drift off into dreamless state.

"Here you are, one last drink before you go to sleep," Halette said, leaning over the bed.

Christine shook her head. "Non merci, miss."

Halette forced a smile. "Oh now don't be like that, dear. It will help you sleep and keep the monsters away." She paused and looked around the room. "Or I could get Madame Richards to come over here."

"No," Christine said quietly. "I'll take it, merci."

Halette nodded. "Sweet dreams."

"Sweet dreams," Christine echoed.

Yet, Halette continued to watch her.

Christine looked down into the cup half filled with water; her throat ached to be quenched of its thirst. Tentatively, she raised the cup to her lips until the water touched her teeth and pretended to swallow. She watched Halette nod, satisfied, before she turned and walked over to the next bed. Soon, she heard the other patients' rhythmic breathing as the sleeping drugs took effect. Christine closed her eyes, drawing on her acting abilities, and concentrated on slowing her breathing until it rose and fell along with the others.

She listened as the staff took their leave for the evening, except for the night overseer with the door closing behind them; only a few lanterns hung along the wall to illuminate the room. Silence fell across the dormitory, but the strange drug induced slumber of the other patients sent goose bumps running down her arms. As she lay awake in the semi darkness, she imagined the cries of pain and shouts of madness from others down below in the lower levels of the asylum. Squeezing her eyes tight, she tried to block out the painful thoughts, but the screaming seemed to grow louder and louder in her ears, the mirror of her mind and reality blurring together.

_Are tthey real or in my mind? Maybe taking the draft would have been better_. Christine shook her head at the very thought. It was now or never to find out about Laralaine.

She rose from her bed, tiptoed to the door, and peeked out. To the right, the night overseer sat at a small desk, but her head bobbed up and down in slumber. With all the patients drugged and taken care of, the overseer must not see a need to stay awake. Again, Christine shook her head and slipped out of the dormitory. Except for the snoring from the overseer, the corridor was silent. Shadows were cast from the few lanterns which lit the passageway. The whole place seemed new and strange in the semi darkness. For a moment, she glanced back at the closed dormitory door in longing, but shook her head. There would be no other time to accomplish her task, not after two days of failed attempts.

Once more, she pushed through the fog of her mind and remembered the young woman who had come to take care of Laralaine had had a set of keys. She turned and took a deep breath as she looked down toward the slumbering night watch. She reached the desk and saw the set of keys hanging on a hook over the desk. Quietly, like a phantom herself, she removed the keys from their perch without waking the other woman.

Using the wall as a guide, she began to move quickly and tried to remember the design of the building during the day. She passed closed door after closed door. Instinctively, she kept to the shadows as much as possible as she kept moving.

A familiar shrill cry stopped her in her tracks as she pressed herself up against the opposite wall. She waited, but no one came. She released a breath, crept closer to the door, put the keys in the hole, and knocked gently.

"Laralaine?" Her voice was barely a whisper.

The crying stopped instantly.

"Lara-"

"Who is it?" The voice was strained, but firm.

"Can I come in?" Christine asked, looking up and down the corridor.

No response.

Carefully, Christine turned the key, took a lantern from the wall, and opened the door. A blast of cold air blew around her as she entered. The smell of dried urine and mold filled the room. She wrinkled her nose and lifted the lantern. Shackles hung lifeless against the rough stone walls. Except for the lantern light, the small room was pitch black. Terror rose in her as she remembered her own times in solitude. Slowly, she began to retreat out the door.

"Who are you?" Laralaine whispered. Her voice was strained and soft as though she was singing the question.

Christine froze and glanced over her shoulder. "Christine…" She gulped. "Christine Daae."

"Ah…what brought you here?"

"Well…I just wanted…." Her voice trailed off as Laralaine began to mutter something under her breath.

Curiously, Christine turned around. The lantern light cast a glow upon a fragile thin older woman who shivered, only a short gray shift covered her, as she lay upon a moth-eaten mattress. Christine bit back a cry. Once golden hair turned gray was spread across her back, unkempt, knotted, and stained with blood. Faded blue eyes stared up at the dark ceiling. Her wrists and ankles were raw red and blistered as though she had just been released from the shackles. A couple of unbroken fingers caressed a small piece of parchment as she mumbled a name, now unaware of Christine's presence.

Carefully, Christine settled on the ground with the lantern beside her. Her knees scraped against the rough stone, but she ignored the pain as she stared at the other woman. "Laralaine?"

No response.

"Laralaine, who are you speaking to?" Her voice seemed to echo around the room and she moved closer. "Who are you speaking to?"

"He's here with me…" Laralaine gazed at the parchment.

"Who is here? Can you tell me, who that is?"

Laralaine raised her head as though she heard the request. In the dim light, her blue eyes shone with shame as she looked at Christine. Her voice cracked as she began to speak.

"Peter….that was his name. I found him….found him….wounded one day in the dead of winter." She shivered. "So…cold." Her eyes began to grow distant as though seeing the past play out again in her mind. "I brought him to a church and helped….made him better….he was so handsome with dark brown hair and brown eyes. I helped him….get better and we…fell in love."

She paused and blushed like a young girl in love. "He was…so gentle and calm….with me. We met in secret for months, I even met a few of his family, they call me…did…did…" She shook her head. "But I was betrothed to another….. So I went to be him two days before I…was to be wed to tell him it was impossible…impossible…for us." A wistful smile slid onto her face. "We talked and then…made love. Nothing mattered except us, but…" Her smile faded. "I must have fallen asleep and when I awoke he was gone, back to his home. I would have followed him anywhere, we had even planned it a week earlier, but he never came back. I guess in our hearts we…we knew it could never be…"

Her voice trailed off as she looked down at the parchment.

"What happened?" Christine asked softly.

Laralaine sniffed as tears began to roll down her face. "And…then….my child came…oh my beautiful little boy….but he was taken from me."

Christine felt her heart sink in sympathy for the poor woman. Yet, a pang of jealously crept into her heart as she remembered what one of the doctors told her. She shook her head as other questions raced through her mind. Why would she be allowed to keep a picture of her late beloved when it seemed to make her unhappy? And how had she ended up in this cell. cut off from everyone? Biting her lip, she leaned in closer, but Laralaine pressed the parchment to her chest.

Christine retreated and raised her hands in surrender. "I'm sorry, but who is that?"

"Peter, it is him."

"And your son….what happened to him?" Christine asked softly.

"My boy…my little boy….taken from me."

"Did Peter know him, your son?"

Laralaine paused, thoughtfully and nodded. "Oui, he did…must have…"

"How did you end up here?"

Laralaine shook her head and lay back down.

Christine paused, biting her lip. Time was running out and she needed more answers. She glanced over at the older woman, but Laralaine seemed to have lost interest in her. Remembering the conversation between the staff an idea came to her. Taking a deep breath, Christine asked, "Who were you engaged to?

Laralaine growled and cursed softly. "He…he was the one….who took my son….damned-"

The door swung open, slamming into the wall. Madame Richards loomed in the threshold as she looked down at them.

"Well…well what do we have here? The rejects of the nobility." Her voice was laced with mockery.

Christine rose to her feet. "Madame-"

"Don't you dare talk back to me. How did you get out of the dormitory?"

Beside her, Christine felt Laralaine shrink away as if she was a child. Christine's eyes narrowed at the older woman. "How can you treat someone-"

Her cheek stung and she collapsed to the ground; her hands scraping against the rough stone. Tears began to run down her face, but she refused to cry out in pain. Crying only made things worse. Behind her, she heard Madame Richards advancing toward Laralaine.

"Give that to me."

"No!" Laralaine shouted as loud as she could.

Christine heard the rip of paper as she stood up to see Madame Richards with a piece of the parchment in her hand. "It's the devil incarnate you damned fool."

"It's my Peter and-"

Madame Richards slapped the poor woman. "That is a monster!"

Laralaine fell back onto the mattress, her lips split.

Christine felt something snap inside of her. Without a thought, she lunged at the mistress, knocking her into the wall. Christine felt an unknown fury boil inside of her as she fought with nails and teeth. Madame Richards began to call for other staff members to come help her. Out of nowhere, Christine felt stronger hands pulling her off of Madame Richards, restraining her as she continued to fight against them, nail and teeth.

"Hold her still!" someone commanded.

Christine bit back her cry as her arm was yanked out straight and pinned against the wall. Something sharp pricked her skin and she began to feel the world spin around her until she fell into darkness.

**Historical Note: The opera Tristan ad Isolde was written by a Germon compser, Richard Wanger in 1850. Altough it was not preformed in Fance until 1980, Wanger had sold his ideafor another opera to the Paris Opera House, _Der fliegende Holländer _(The Flying Dutchman)" to be written by another composer, after Wnager hadbeen living in France for a few years without much success. **

**Since he had worked in Fance for a few years, it is not forfetched to think people did not at least know his works in France even if they were not preformed. Which is hwere Christine came up with that Opera name. **

**So, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Please review and let me know what you think constructive critasim is always welcomed. More coming soon. :)**


	7. Darkness Which You Know You Cannot Fight

**Hey here is another chapter for my faithful reiewers. :) I own nothing but the plot and the orginal characters. I will go into it more in the historcal note at the end, but this is a semi historical story, but in some areas I may not gotten all the details right so I'm sorry for that. I am trying to keep it historical within the context of the plot. A big thanks to my BETAer as always. The title is from Music of the Night from the orignal Phantom musical. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it. **

Everything was a blur as she struggled back into consciousness. The first thing she felt was the cold, the icy air running over her as she shivered. Opening her eyes completely, she saw nothing within the black void that surrounded her. Her heart quickened its pace as her eyes began to search in vain for any crack of light within the room. Her nose wrinkled from the foul stench in the air: a mixture of urine, moss, and other strange odors. Terror pulsed through her as her old childhood fears resurfaced. A million questions raced through her mind as she tried to push herself up.

She bit back a cry as she felt something cold cut against her wrists and pull her back down. Her head slammed against a thin mattress as she stared up into the nothingness. Something was wrong. In all her other periods of solitude, she had worn a tight jacket which crossed her arms behind her to restrict movement, but now she felt the cold iron of shackles.

Carefully, she tried to twist and turn to free herself from the chains which bound her wrists and ankles. Why was she there? How long she been there? The memories from earlier were a blur except for the pain in her arm from a sharp prick. Her throat burned with thirst while her stomach ached for food. Silent tears rolled down her face as she tried to remember.

Her body grew tense as she heard the rattle of keys in a lock. Blinding light pierced the darkness as a door creaked open. Blinking back the brightness, she saw two saw shadowy figures enter and come around on both sides of the mattress. Neither of them said a word as they half forced her to sit up and stuck something near her mouth. Christine sniffed it and greedily drank the water held out for her; the cool liquid slid down her throat, quenching her thirst.

"You greedy little thing," one of the staff taunted as she pulled the cup away.

Christine heard herself whisper, "More."

"Not tonight my little mademoiselle," the other woman said.

"Plea-"

"Non, you cannot order us around," the first one said. "No servants here."

_They think I come from nobility_. Christine felt herself go numb as the two women began to move her, changing the bedding and securing the chains on the four corners of the mattress. Their taunts fell on deaf ears as Christine stared off into space, lost in her own confusion. The blinding light brought her back as she stared at the silhouettes of the two in the doorway.

The first woman smiled. "Welcome to your new home."

Darkness engulfed Christine again as she heard the key turn. The woman's last words echoed in her mind. Home. Was this cell meant to be her home? She looked around in the darkness and shivered. _Is this home, this tragic place?_ She closed her eyes as she tried to remember her last home. In her mind's eye, she saw a grand stage with a performance being preformed for the excited audience, waiting to be swept away in a story.

She heard singers raise their voices and sing out difficult arias and other numbers while the chorus danced around them. Yet, the next moment, she saw a fire blazing across the same stage, destroying everything. Her eyes snapped open as she pushed the memory away, shivering. Now, alone in the dark, she looked over at the direction of the door and recalled someone singing to her.

_Turn your face away from the garish light of day,  
>turn your thoughts away from cold, unfeeling light -<br>and listen to the music of the night ...  
>Close your eyes and surrender to your darkest dreams!<br>Purge your thoughts of the life you knew before!  
>Close your eyes, let your spirit start to soar!<br>And you'll live as you've never lived before_

The singer wanted her to embrace the darkness of instantity and turn away from the light, but she could not. She needed the light to help her survive this place or else the darkness would consume her. _Am I meant to be shut away from the world with all these high walls around me? Is this my home forever?_ She moaned, silent tears rolled down her face, but soon she fell into another dreamless slumber.

XxX

Raoul looked up and down the long, crowded Paris streets, his senses on alert. The chilly night air swirled around him, as he watched the crowds. Anyone could be hidden within the large crowds, unseen. The phantom was a cunning man, but without his domain he had grown careless and he would be brought to justice. The private investigator had spoken of the phantom returning to this place and so Raoul waited, scanning the crowds. The square outside of Norte Dame was packed with people going to attend the late masses.

News of the emperor being overthrown and the establishment of the new government known as the Third Republic, earlier in September, caused uncertainty to spread. Yet, it was the German siege of Paris which sent millions to the steps of great cathedral, all asking for salvation. Everyone seemed to sense the impending end, the anticipation almost palpable within the city.

Yet, Raoul had another war to fight and this time he would not lose. He kept to the outskirts of the square, but his eyes were sharp, scrutinizing anyone in formal evening wear. The last bell chimes for the mass filled the area as another crowd exited from the cathedral. Something familiar caught his attention. A small blonde woman was leaving with church alone, but her walk was graceful, every movement deliberate, as if she moved in ballet, and belonging to one who had taken the professional art of dance _Perhaps Meg Giry_.

He followed her past the square and down a few more blocks. Away from the huge crowd, he called, "Bonsoir Mademoiselle."

The woman paused and glanced over her shoulder. "Monsieur?"

Raoul smirked, the cloths of a commoner concealing his identity. He took a step closer and smiled. "You don't remember me, Mademoiselle Giry?"

Meg squinted her eyes and then bowed her head slightly. "Vicomte de Chagny, what a pleasant surprise."

"May I ask what you were doing out here alone?"

Meg fiddled with the cross hung around her neck. "I was going to church, Monsieur."

"Alone?"

"My mother had other things to attend to, but I'm a good Catholic girl."

Raoul nodded. "I have no doubt about that, but you really should not be alone out on the streets. There are dangerous people about."

"The Germans you mean?"

"Hardly. Those fools will never take France. I mean the criminals in our own city that must be brought to justice, and I believe you know where I can find such a criminal."

Meg lowered her hand from the cross and shook her head. "Monsieur, I have no idea what you mean? I have never seen the Opera Ghost."

Raoul frowned. "I am not playing games, Mademoiselle. That monster must be brought to justice. He was responsible for many deaths and the destruction of the Opera Populaire." He looked at her. "He robbed you of becoming the Prima Ballerina, did he not?"

"The opera house is being rebuilt. Now, if you will excuse me, Monsieur." Meg turned, but paused. "How is Christine doing?"

"She is fine, enjoying the country with my family. They are staying in the southern suburbs outside of Paris."

Meg's eyebrows knitted together, but then she nodded. "…Oh, I'm certain she is. She and her father used to travel a lot when she was a girl."

Raoul nodded. "Oui."

"But…if it is not too forward to ask, why are you not there with her in these tough times?"

"I have other business to see to and Christine understands that. However, it would go much faster if you could help me." He paused and looked at the ground. When he looked up again, his eyes were moist. "Meg, that monster still has Christine under his power and she will never be happy until he is brought to justice. She has physically harmed herself because of him, that… and I fear for her. Don't you want your best friend to be happy?"

Meg nodded. "Of course, Monsieur, I would do anything for Christine, you know that, but…I cannot help you. I honestly have not seen the man you are looking for. Now please excuse me, I really must get home."

She gave a small incline of her head, turned, and walked down the street. Raoul stared after her and smiled. The little ballerina was certainly an accomplished dancer, but not an actress. Unknowingly, she had given him all the answers he needed. She knew where the Phantom was and he had taken the last safe haven for the ghost to hide. It was only a matter of time before the beast was in his clutches and Christine was freed from the monster's evil spell. Free to be with him for one love and lifetime just as they had promised each other on the opera rooftop. Quietly, he turned and walked back to his rooms to wait.

XxX

Madame Giry looked up from her book as the door slammed shut. Feet pounded along the corridor before Meg rushed into her bedroom. Meg's eyes were wide with fear as she ran over to her mother, and collapsed onto the bed.

Setting the book aside, Madame Giry asked, "Ma Cherie what is the matter?"

Meg shook her head. "Oh Maman, we have to get him out of here. It's not safe anymore."

"Calm down, child what has happened?" Madame reached over and stroked her daughter's wrists.

"I saw…I saw the Vicomte. He is still in Paris looking for the Phantom. He thought I knew where he was. I didn't tell him anything, but he must go for his own safety as well as ours."

"Meg, my dear calm yourself, you know that is impossible. What shall we do? Abandon him to the Germans or the Vicomte? Non, he shall stay here, there is no proof he is here."

"But.."

"Non, I told you-"

"What is going on?" Erik asked from the doorway.

Madame Giry glanced over at him. "The Vicomte is still in the city, looking for you, but I told Meg that you are to stay here."

Erik nodded. "Oui, I have seen his spies around the city. Fools all of them."

"My friend, you must exercise some caution at least. Otherwise those fools will have the last laugh. Now, Meg did the Vicomte say anything else?"

Meg shook her head. "No, but…I did ask about Christine since we missed the wedding."

Both Madame and Erik stared at her in anticipation.

Meg lifted the cross from around her neck and set it down on her the night stand. She took a deep breath. "He said, she was still in the country with his family just south of the city."

Erik shook his head. "That is impossible, little Giry, there is nothing there and no place for a Comte and his family to stay. It's just forest and a few scattered cottages, but nothing special."

Madame Giry looked at him. "How do you know? That is where Christine and Raoul went for a vacation almost two months, claiming that she needed a distraction from the nerves before the wedding, isn't that right, Meg?"

Her daughter nodded. "Oui, and he told such a story, but it made Christine sound crazy, so maybe the vacation…" Her voice trailed off as she glanced over at the former phantom. "What did you say?"

Yet, Erik did not seem to hear her. His eyes were glazed over as though lost in the past. His whole body grew tense as one word escaped his lips. "Manicomio"

Mother and daughter look at each other.

"What's that?" Meg asked.

Erik blinked and looked over at Madame Giry. "It is Spanish and it is the 'asile de fou', that's what out there."

Madame Giry drew in a sharp breath. "You…cannot think Christine is in such a place. She could not be in an insane asylum."

"That is the only place out there. If this is where the vile boy said Christine was, I must go and get her." Erik turned to leave.

"Erik, you must think this through. It could be possible for the Vicomte to be lying to get you out in the open and catch you to send you to the gallows."

"But if she is there then I must go to her, now! Do you have any idea what can happen to her?"

"Erik, listen to me-"

Yet, the former phantom ignored his old friend's pleas and dashed from the room and out the window, disappearing into the night.

**Historical note. Napoleon the Third of France declared war on Prussia on July 19th 1870. By September 4th Nappolean and his tropps were captured and a new temporary goverment, The Third Repulic was put in place. Later on the 19th of Sempter, the Germans began a seige of Paris. Some people tried to talk it out, but nothing worked. The city finally fall in Jan. 1871. **

**Also, it was true that the hospital in the story, wnet for more human methods, like straightjackets and stuff. However, many times the asylums were over crowded and understaffed so while it may not have been tech. legal there were most likely times when shackles were still used. **

**So, yes Erik will be on his way to free his angel. :) Please review this chapter and let me know what you think, good bad, whatever. More coming soon. :) **


	8. House upon the Hill

**Hi I'm back with the chapter you have all been waiting for. I own nothing, but the plot and my own orignal characters. The rest belong to the respectable people who have the rights to The Phantom of the Opera. The song title is from the musical The Secret Garden which again I do not own. ****I hope you enjoy this chapter. :)**

_The light of a blazing fire glowed against the dark night sky, but the small child could not feel the flames' warmth. A few tents were scattered around the campsite, but he remained outside of the group, his face hidden under a dirty sack with holes for his eyes and nose. In the distance, he heard his master and the other gypsies talking or singing while others counted the money they managed to swindle the innocent gadje or non gypsies out of with glee. Even some of the other older freak attractions walked freely around the campsite, enjoying the music and conversations. _

_The small child watched the scene play out before him as he pressed his face against the iron bars of his cage. Sniffing the air, his stomach ached at the scent of food. He could not remember his last meal of gruel, but he kept quiet and focused his mind away from food. His near skeletal body trembled as the late autumn air swirled around him. A small cry escaped his lips as his bruised back brushed against the bars. He glanced over his shoulder, but no one paid him any attention. The child took a deep breath as his eyes began to wander around the area beyond the campsite. Moonlight shone through the half barren tree branches of the dense silent forest. Again, his hands gripped the bars as he stared out into the surrounding woods. _

_You could get lost forever in those woods. he thought to himself. The child closed his eyes and tried to imagine the freedom of running through the forest and climbing up the trees. Cold, rough hands gripped his neck and swung him around. He cried out in pain as his back slammed against the iron. A large man stared down at him, a drunken, amused smile spread across his breaded face. _

"_Thinking of escape, are you?" the gypsy master asked._

_The child shook his head, terror in his eyes. _

"_What would I do without my little __Pequeño__Diablo__? We're going to be in the grand Paris city and we need you." He released his hold and patted the child on the head. _

_The boy flinched, but did not pull away. To an outsider, the action was affectionate, but the child felt the master's nails digging into his scalp, even through the sack. The master leaned in close and whispered, "Do you hear it… the screaming?"_

_The child listened and heard the faint inhuman screams which seemed to come from within the forest itself. He closed his eyes, but the noises would not be drowned out. "That is where you could be you little beast. The __Manicomio, the insane asylum, where the unwanted, unloved, and demons are sent, locked away from the word. Is that what you want?" _

_The master yanked the child's neck back and looked into his eyes. The boy's body trembled as he stared up at his master and shook his head. His master pushed him away and stumbled back over to the others. The child watched him leave as he curled up into a ball, longing for an ounce of warmth. Yet, his only company were the strange and distant screams from the prisoners within the Manicomio. _

Erik shook his head, pushing the memory away. He was no longer the small terrified child but he needed the rest of his strength to help him. The normal one day journey had grown into two days and had taken a lot out of him. He rarely slept, only continued forward with one thought in mind: finding his beautiful Christine. Who knew what tortures she had been through? He only had to close his eyes to remember the inhuman wails from the inmates of that cursed place. Once more, he shook his head and cautiously continued his way through the large forest and barren fields.

Twilight shone through the barren trees by the time he stopped to rest. Erik cursed himself for not bringing a flask. His throat burned with thirst. Yet, his departure had been in a quick haste: needing to find Christine. His right arm ached from a bullet wound by one of the German soldiers just as he had left the city. Erik was only grateful that his legend was not known among the Germans and the officers had let him run. He carefully checked the self made bandage, but it did not look any worse. Closing his eyes, he tried to remember the location of the gypsy camp all those years ago.

_So much can change, but I cannot stop now_. Erik, took a deep breath, and kept moving forward.

Despite the passage of time, the basic landscape had not changed much from his memory. A few cottages and farming land were scattered about with small families dwelling in them and working the fields. Leaves crunched behind him as he slipped behind a large oak tree and waited. An older man marched through the trees, with a bundle of wood strapped to his back, whistling. He paused and set the bundle down to rest and leaned against another tree. His head shot up at a strange sound.

"Who's there?" he asked, scanning the silent area.

Throwing his voice, Erik answered, "That is not important, but I have a question for you."

"Where and who are you? I demand to know." The old man stood up and looked around.

"I mean you no harm Monsieur, but can you tell me where I might find the 'asile de fou'?"

The man scoffed. "That cursed place, who would want to go there?"

"I have my reasons. Now how do I get there?"

The man paused. "Is this some trick?"

Erik felt his hand reaching for the rope hidden in his cloak. "I assure you it is not, but I am losing my patience, Monsieur. The directions now!"

"Just follow the road for a while til you reach Kremlin. That is where that cursed place is located. Now be off with you whoever you are." Without another word, the man picked up his bundle and left.

Quickly, Erik turned and continued his journey.

Near total darkness surrounded him by the time he reached Kremlin. A sliver of moonlight and the stars shone down across the land. Erik's sharp eyes saw the rural landscape stretching out toward the horizon. For an instant, he imagined himself as a child again, running through the fields, finally free.

_No, stop it! That dream is dead. Christine comes first._ He sighed in frustration. The longer he took to get there, the longer his angel was trapped. Out of the corner of his eye, something caught his attention, a dim light shinning from a hill. Could it be the asylum? Was it just one of the cottages? Without a thought, he ran toward the light, a new wave of energy pulsing through him as the light grew closer and closer.

_At least be cautious my friend_. He paused as Madame Giry's words ran through his mind. He looked away from the high lightened windows and saw the large silhouette of the stone walls around the house. A shier ran down his spine as the small child resurfaced in his heart, his hand unconsciously moving to his mask.

The gypsy master's words echoed in his mind. _That is where you could be you little beast._

_I…I'll be a good boy, _the child answered_. _

"_You deserve to be there, you worthless creature," _his master said_. "You are nothing." _

_No go away!_ Erik shook his head and moved to the wall, grateful for the darkness. His hands felt the rough stone feeling for hand and foot holds. Crouching low, he moved silently along until he felt what he had been searching for. A small smile curled at the corner of his lips as he started to climb. He felt his lack of practice and his shoulder ached, but he ignored the pain.

Dropping on the other side, he paused and scanned the area. From the dim light of the windows, he saw two gardeners walking through the courtyard. Both were discussing something, but Erik could not decipher their exact words. Silently, he watched them turn and enter the building. Erik waited for a few minutes; the whole place was as quiet as a graveyard before he crossed the yard and slipped inside. He felt a shiver run down his spine as the door shut behind him. There was no going back.

Lanterns and torches lit the long, winding corridors. Yet, Erik kept to the light's edge, in shadow, as he moved through the ward. All his senses were on alert while his right hand gripped the lasso. An eerie silence filled the passageways as he moved through them, his memories from childhood fresh. Yet the silence seemed more frightening than the inhuman screams. The whole maze felt like a prison where one could be lost forever and no one else would know. Footsteps echoed down the hallway. Erik pushed himself up against the wall in the darkness. He turned his head and saw a younger woman walking toward him; her simple gray uniform was wrinkled, perhaps from her work. Erik's fists clenched as he watched her. _She is one of them_.

As she passed, he sneaked up behind her and pulled the lasso around her neck.

"Scream and it will be your last," Erik whispered into her ear. "Do you understand?"

The young woman trembled, but managed to nod.

"Do you know where Christine Daae is?"

Again, she nodded.

"Show me." Gently, Erik pushed her forward.

After some time, they stopped at a door. The girl fumbled with a set of keys in the lock before Erik heard the door creak open. Impatiently, Erik shoved the girl forward and entered the room, stopping in his tracks. His nose wrinkled at the dreadful smell, but his eyes were frozen on the figure that lay before him. His body blocked most of the light, from the corridor, but through the dim lighting he saw a thin creature. Chains bound her wrists and ankles to the mattress. Her white shift was filled with grime, but he saw her chest rise and fall in slumber; her face was in shadow.

Despite the darkness, he knew it was his Christine. Erik stared down at his fragile angel and his heart ached. How he longed to rush to her side and press her to himself and never let her go again. Yet, his feet would not follow his wishes. Beside him, he heard the woman he held captive began to whimper. He silenced her with a single glance.

A strained moan brought his back to the fragile creature on a cot; his heart skipped a beat. It was her voice, the voice he had longed to hear again. Slowly, he stepped inside.

"Christine?" His gentle whisper seemed to echo around the silent cell.

The woman before him gave no response.

"Mon Ange?"

Still, she did not answer.

Erik glanced over at the other woman. Her face had gone pale as she stared at him and began to point.

"Monster! Monster, the devil!" She screamed, her eyes fixed upon him.

Instantly, Erik's hand flew to his mask, but his fingers brushed against bare skin. Somehow his mask had fallen off, but he could not remember where. He stared at the terrified woman's face before she could scream again. Her whole body trembling. Erik felt his grip tighten on the lasso as he brought the woman closer to him. He stared into her eyes until he saw the color drain from them and her body went limp and she fell to the floor. The former phantom stared down at her, but he felt nothing as though she was his old master. He had felt the impulse to kill her like his old master, but had released at the last second with the woman was only unconscious.

He shook his head, and quickly removed the lasso, then turned back to the task at hand. Bending over, he tugged at the shackles. His teeth clenched as he tried to ignore the pain in his shoulder and hands.

"My Angel, hold on." Erik looked around the small cell.

The discarded keys lay on the ground near the fallen woman. Erik grabbed them and began twisting each key into the key holes. All the incorrect ones meant time for discovery was drawing closer. The nurse's screams still echoed in his mind. Finally, he heard the lock release.

"Oui," he whispered as he unlocked the other three shackles.

Gently, he picked her up and his heart sank a little. She was so light, so thin. He could only imagine the torture she had undergone, but now was not the time to think about it. Only one thing mattered, escape. The long corridor was silent as Erik stepped out, all his senses on alert again. Away from the cell, the scent of the chloroform from Christine's body twisted his stomach in tight knots. Erik only hoped that the other inmates were under the influence of similar drugs and would not wake for hours. Once more, he looked up and down the passageway before he turned and walked down the corridor.

His footsteps echoed through the silent maze of the asylum. It was too easy to get lost within the stone walls with no hope of ever getting out. His eyes scanned each passageway before he walked down it, all the while aware of how much time has passed. Once the sun rose, the hospital staff would awaken too. Time was precious. Something caught his attention. Moonlight shone through a small opening on one of the doors. Without a thought, he ran toward it and threw it open, stepping back out into the courtyard.

The cold air swirled around him as they moved further outside. He saw the moon beginning to sink toward the west like the sun. An unknown fear pulsed through him as his grip tightened around the frail creature in his arms. Beneath his fingers, he felt the shivers running through her body.

_She must get warm_. Erik's eyes scanned the area. Only the high walls surrounded them. For a moment, he felt the yearning and fear of the small child, locked behind iron bars. He had escaped those, but that time he had been alone. Erik took a deep breath, realizing he could not just retrace his steps of scaling with wall with Christine.

Again, he moved through the yard until he found the entrance gates. The wind whipped around the pair as Erik glided closer to the gate; his hand slipped around the lasso. A lone guard stood by the entrance, his appearance weary from the long hours at his post. Erik watched him from the shadows and smiled to himself. He set Christine down and crept up behind the man.

"Who's there?" the guard asked, suddenly alert.

Erik growled and moved closer, slipping the lasso silently around the man's neck. He pulled with the swift tug of a skilled hand that gave the guard no chance to utter a scream as he fell to the ground. Relaxing his grip, the former phantom knelt down and checked for a pulse, but found none.

_There was for my Christine. _Erik removed the lasso and felt around until he finally found a set of keys, similar to the ones the nurse had carried. He picked them up and went back over to Christine.

A soft moan escaped her lips, but she did not stir.

Erik crawled over to her and cradled her in his arms. "Shh, soon my angel."

No response.

Erik sighed, slipped off his coat, and wrapped it around her fragile form. "I'm here, Christine, it will be all right."

Carefully, he stood up, shifted her back in his arms, and walked over to the gate. It took three tries before he found the correct key. He turned it and pushed the gate open; the hinges creaked. Erik held Christine protectively against his chest as they slipped out of the courtyard before he closed the gate and relocked it. He set Christine down again and stood up. The former phantom smiled triumphantly as he threw the keys far into some bushes. Without looking back, he turned, picked up Christine, and went into the forest away from the asylum, from Paris, and from the life he and his angel had known.

XxX

Beneath the canopy of trees, the early morning sun flittered through and down on the two silent fugitives. Coming to a stop beside a small stream, Erik laid Christine down before he checked his wound though it did not appear any worse. He often glanced over at his slumbering angel. In the half sunlight, he saw her truly thin figure, even beneath his cloak, and her pale face lying in the grass. She had stirred twice since their escape only to slip back into the world of dreams. Both times, he had tried to reach her, but she had not responded to him. Yet, it was enough to know it she was alive.

Erik tore his eyes away from her and sighed. The weight of his actions fell heavily onto his shoulders. He had gotten Christine out, but without proper care what would happen? How could he have been such a fool not to think those things through? How had she even gotten in that place?

The former phantom sighed in frustration as he knelt down, cupped his hands, and dipped them into the stream. The cool water dripped down his hands as he raised them and moved over to Christine. Her lips parted as the liquid touched them and she swallowed. A tiny smile twitched at the corner of Erik's lips, but it did not reach his eyes. Small sips of water would do little to help her.

Tenderly, he stroked her hair. "I swear you will become well again and never…_never_ go back to that terrible place."

Still, she gave no response.

"I promise…"

His head snapped up as another sound caught his attention. He dived onto the ground and listened.

The sound of a bell echoed through the trees. Birds flew from the barren branches, but Erik ignored them. A vague memory crept into his mind of the church bells, for morning mass which seemed to run through the lower chambers of the opera house. He looked over at Christine. _Demons may not need the light of God, but surely they will not turn an angel away. _Carefully, he picked Christine up and began to walk toward the lingering sound of the bells.

Erik crouched behind a tree and looked around. Alone, among many trees, stood a small simple stone structure. No stain glass filled the windows. A low ceiling made up of a wooden roof. In the back, a larger attached building with a large bell was raised above the front. Large wooden doors were open to allow the fresh air inside. Off to the right, an older man was raking the leaves with his back turned to them. His figure was small, but elegant in his long dull brown robe.

Erik felt Christine shift against him, stirring. _It is now or never_.

Quietly, he walked out from his hiding place.

"Who's there?" The man's head snapped up and he surveyed the area.

Erik cursed himself, for not being quieter, and looked down at the cracked branches. Yet, he remained silent.

"If you have come to take anything I offer all I have freely in the name-"

"I have not come here to steal, monsieur." Erik watched the man shift his ear to sound of his voice. "I only ask for your help."

The old man paused. "What help do you wish?"

Erik opened his mouth, but Christine's moans cut him off. She shifted again and began to mumble something under her breath. Erik tightened his grip as the man stepped closer. He glared at the priest, but the man did not reach for either of them.

"What has happened to you two?"

Erik remained silent.

"I can take a guess, but it would be better if you told the truth."

Erik stared at him, uncertainly. The old man did not look at them, but stared off in an odd direction. "How can you tell? You're…urn…"

The man smiled. "Blind, yes, but don't be misled. My sight may be failing, but my hearing is still perfect and your young woman is in much pain." He turned back to the small church. "Sister Norah, would you come here for a moment?"

A middle aged woman came out into the small yard. She wore a long black robe with a matching headpiece. Wiping her hands with a cloth, she asked, "Oui, what is it Father Garen?"

"Ah, Sister, it appears we have some company and they seem in need of help. Particularly, the young woman."

Her warm face turned to the new arrivals, but faltered as she looked at Erik. Her blue eyes grew wide and she crossed herself before turning back to the priest. "Oh, Father, you cannot accept them. Your vision has blinded you to see this creature…." Her voice trailed off.

Erik tensed as he avoided her eyes. Anger ran through him, but Christine's health came first.

Father Garen shook his head. "Now, Sister, you know we do not judge. For all of us are children of God. If you would be so kind as to help the young woman."

Christine groaned as Erik tightened his grip on her, protectively. He watched the two strangers closely, but the priest held up his hand. "Now I mean you or your lady no harm, monsieur. I only wish to offer my help, which you yourself asked for."

Erik nodded and reluctantly gave Christine over to the Sister. He watched them disappear into the church, but he did not follow them. He heard Father Garen take a step toward him. Once more, Erik tensed and he turned away from the older man.

"Ah, come now, we will take good care of her. You have my word."

"Oui you had better," Erik whispered. "She is an angel."

"And what of you, Monsieur? What is your story?"

"One that is not your concern, Father. Will she _really_ be safe here?"

Father Garen nodded. "Oui, she is in good hands. Now why don't you come inside? It is about time for lunch." He turned to go.

"Erik shook his head. "No merci, I am not hungry." _Nor am I worthy to cross that threshold._ The old stories began circling in his mind and he grimaced.

Father Garen stared in his direction for a moment. Finally, he nodded and began to walk back into the church. "I shall call you when lunch is served."

**Historical note: The south of France is like a suburb to a city. However, I found that it took longer for the area to be industralized so I took some liseance in the landscape during that time, but I tried to make it work. Also the town Kremlin was a real place and was later named Le Kremlin-Bicêtre for the hospital that was located there. **

**A big thanks to Honeyphan, my failthful BETAer, but she always gave me the idea of the gaurd and the gate section when Christine and Erik were leaving. So all credct goes to her for that small section and I thnk her very much. :) **

**Well I hope it was all worth the wait despite Christine and Erik not having exchanged any dailodge. I thank my loyal reviewers for sticking with the story so far even though most of you were dying for Erik and Christine to get back together sooner. Please let me knw what you think, good, bad, improvement or whatever. I thank you and more coming soon.**


	9. Do I Dream Again?

**Here's the next thank you to all my new reviewers I'm glad you're enjoying the story. Again, a big thanks to Honeyphan for my BETAer. IThe title is a lyrics belong to Andrew Lyod Webber from the musical "The Phantom of the Opera." I hope everyone enjoys this new chapter. .**

Christine's eyes fluttered open to a white light shining through a small window. She shivered and closed her eyes tight. _No, not now_.

Whimpering, she waited for the cold fingers of one of the staff members. Yet, nothing happened. Confusion clouded her mind as she blinked rapidly. She moved her hands down a wool comforter which covered her. Startled, she sat up and glanced around the small lit chamber. Two tapestries hung on the wall: red, blue and gold in color.

Three windows were stationed around the room: two above the beds and one set along the wall. A fire blazed in a hearth; the stone walls insulating the fire's warmth around the room. Next to it was a small closet with only a few clothes within. Beneath her, she felt the soft sheets of a bed, a_ real_ bed. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw another bed directly across from hers, similar to the dormitory.

Her heart began to pound as her hands nervously ran over the quilt. The smooth, heavy fabric felt strange under her fingers. Christine stared down at her hands and shivered. Red blisters ran around her wrists, contrasting her deathly pale skin. Just above them, the cuff of a fresh white gown stared back at her. A million questions raced through her mind, but no answers came to her. How had she come here? Why was she here? Was this another part of the asylum?

Gradually, she looked up as her eyes began to wander around the chamber until they rested on a mirror set opposite of the wall window. Sunlight bounced off of it, blinding her for a moment. Christine gulped as she stared at the glass surface. She could barely remember the last time she had seen her reflection. Nowhere in the rest of the asylum could she remember seeing any mirror or reflective surface. How would she appear? Would she even recognize herself? Biting her lip, Christine began to throw off the covers.

The door opened as a middle aged woman entered. She wore a nun's habit and her fingers toyed nervously with her rosary. Christine watched the older woman as she walked over and began to stock the fire; the crackling seemed to echo around the chamber. After a moment, she turned and spotted Christine, her hand falling over her heart.

"Oh, dear you are awake." She paused and collected herself. "I'm sorry, I'm Sister Norah and-"

"Sister Norah?" Christine's eyebrows knitted together. There were no nuns within the asylum.

The woman nodded. "Oui, and I'm glad to see you are awake. How…how are you feeling?"

Christine stared at her. "I'm…all right."

Sister Norah nodded and walked over between the two beds to the water basin. "Did you sleep well?"

Christine paused. "I'm…not sure actually. Where..." Her voice trailed off as she averted her eyes.

Sister Norah wringed out a wet cloth. "You're in the church of clémence here in Kremlin. And you will be sharing my room."

_Kremlin? Where is that? And a church? There are none within the walls of the hospital. How did I get here?_ Christine sat silently as the older woman tended to her. She felt herself wince, but did not acknowledge it, her eyes locked on Sister Norah. Her hands were soft and tender as the nun wrapped the cloth around her blistered, bruised wrists. The work was slow and careful unlike the quick and rushed way of the staff members.

Sister Norah set the cloth aside. "Unfortunately I don't have the proper medicine to treat these, but they should heal by themselves in time. Is that all right?"

Christine nodded.

"Now, are you hungry?"

Christine began to shake her head, but the loud grumble of her stomach answered for her. Nervously, she blushed. "I suppose I am."

"I shall be right back." Sister Norah checked her wrists again before she left the chamber.

Silence fell around her as Christine surveyed the chamber again. Once more, her gaze rested on the mirror. Fear and curiosity ran through her, but she did not move; uncertain of the new rules of this strange place. The same questions ran through her mind, but all of them remained unanswered. How long had she been there? Why was she here? She sat numb, until Sister Norah returned and set the food down on a small table beside the door and just as quietly left again.

Christine stared at the food and gulped as her stomach rumbled. She could not remember her last meal; all her memories were a blur. Warily, she threw back the covers and slipped out from under the warm comforter. Ice ran through her as her toes hit the cold wooden floor. Her knees buckled beneath her, her arms slamming against the bed.

She bit her lip as she struggled to stand back up, using the mattress for support. Bit by bit, she began to walk to the end of the bed, staring at the food hesitantly. Her left hand slid over her sore stomach, fighting the pain. The food the Sister had just brought looked too good to be true. What kind of poisons or sleeping drafts were in there?

Christine tore her eyes away from the simple meal. Despite her hunger, she would not fall prey to those traps again and lose herself to the endless darkness. Her body froze a the sound of footsteps padded outside the door. She closed her eyes and waited. Yet, no one entered. Her nails dug into the bed frame as she pushed herself away, slowly moving toward the mirror. A distant voice from her past ran through her mind.

_Flattering child, see why in shadow I hide, look at your face in the mirror_, the person beckoned.

_Come to me strange angel_, her mind answered. She had been living in the shadows too long and now she needed to see the reality for herself. Closing her eyes, she knelt down beside the mirror.

Anxiety ran through her as the seconds ticked by yet she knew she could not hold off any longer and opened her eyes. Her eyes grew wide, unable to recognize herself. Her once shining brown eyes were dull and lifeless with dark circles beneath them. Dried blood covered her chapped lips. In the reflection, her wrists seemed to redden further and she shivered, feeling the shackles on her once more. Beneath the gown, she saw her near skeletal figure staring back at her while her hair was unkempt and tangled. She blinked several times, but the image did not change.

_What has happened to me?_ Her hand rose and rested upon the cool mirror surface and shivered. So much had changed in such a short amount of time. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw something move in the mirror behind her. Her whole body began to tremble as she stared at the dark reflection. Somewhere in the back her mind, she remembered a similar time with a beautiful angel.

_No, there are no angels. An angel did this to me_. Angry hot tears began to roll down her cheeks as she snapped her head around to see the intruder looking through the small window.

"No…go away….go away!" Christine's voice was hoarse and weak, but still held a firm bitterness. Her eyes narrowed as she stared at the dark figure before he slipped away.

"What is wrong?" a voice asked from behind her.

Startled, Christine looked to the right and saw Sister Norah standing by the door.

Concern filled the older woman's face as she walked over. "What happened in here? Are you all right?"

"I…" Christine shook her head and glanced over at the window. What had just happened? Who was that stranger? The whole event had scared her. Yet, somehow the ordeal had felt strangely familiar. She clung onto the Sister as she knelt down.

"What happened?"

"I saw…saw…a man…" Christine's voice trailed off as more sobs shook her body.

Sister Norah paused. "I…can only assume it was that…man who brought you here. He seemed very concerned for your well being."

Christine shivered. "You…mean he was real?"

"Oui, but don't be fooled. He seemed dangerous as well. A creature not of this earth with that…that face." Sister Norah sighed. "Well, never mind and are you up for a little walk?"

For a moment, Christine paused. Could she really walk? Her legs felt so weak for even the short distance from the bed to the mirror. And the strange man who had appeared at the window, who was he? How had he gotten her out of the asylum? A part of her yearned to thank him, but another part quivered at the very thought. Closing her eyes, she tried to lose herself in a song, but she could not hear the music. Fear rushed through her as she tried to reach for it; music had never abandoned her before. What had happened?

"Are you all right?" Sister Norah bent down and placed a hand on her shoulder. "What is it?"

Christine shook her head. "I'm…fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Oui, can…." Her voice trailed off uncertainly. Could she ask questions here?

Sister Norah's face was filled with concern. "What do you want?"

"To go for a walk."

Sister Norah nodded and helped Christine up. She let herself be escorted through the door, climbed a small stairwell, and went into the main chamber. Sunlight poured through the simple windows, illuminating the room. The same dull stone walls surrounded them as they entered. Wooden beams stretched across the tops of the walls, supporting the roof. A few small tapestries covered the walls behind the altar with images of Christ, angels, and the saints. Christine averted her eyes and looked out to the back. Five benches were set in a row facing the altar. She felt a light breeze against her face from the opened doors and closed her eyes breathing in the fresh air.

"Are you all right?" Sister Norah placed a hand on her shoulder.

Christine opened her eyes and nodded. "Oui, thank you."

"All right, now look." She pointed back where they had come. "That leads down to my quarters and the small kitchen is while behind that door, do you see it there? Off to the right just before the alter. That is Father Garen's chamber."

Christine nodded, but glanced back toward the open door.

As though reading her mind, Sister Norah patted her hand. "That….man shall not harm you here. The Lord shall protect us as He does all his true children." She stared at the alter and crossed herself.

Christine looked around the room again. "How many people come here and do none seek confession?"

"It is a small congregation, but they all are devoted and true in their beliefs. They are also good about confessing their sins to Father Garen. Come I will show you."

Christine nodded and allowed herself to be led from the main chamber. Yet, in the back of her mind a nagging fear kept circling. Where was the strange man? What did he want with a damaged girl?

XxX

Erik sat beneath a lone tree, staring at the small window. The lunch Father Garen had delivered lay untouched beside him, his mind lost on other troubling events. Closing his eyes, he saw her eyes again. Those large brown eyes that had once shone with happiness now shone with pure anger. Her words from that fateful night in his lair echoed in his mind. _The tears I might have shed grow cold and turn to tears of hate!_

Those cruel words had become true. The creature that had stared back at him through the window was tainted. It was not his Christine, and yet at the same time it was. Her youthful and innocent outlook on the world had been taken from her. In all his deception with posing as the Angel of Music, he had always allowed her to be herself and had never tried to change her. What happened to her? What torture had she undergone? Why had he not been there to save her?

Erik had seen a little of it in her eyes, the pain and sorrow. _How could they do such a thing to such an angel? What is there…?_

His musing was cut off as the distant sound of voices floated up from the other side of the church. Quietly, he moved to follow, keeping to the shade of trees. The encounter with the Sister was not one he wished to repeat if he could help it. He followed the voices around the back of the church and paused. A short covered walkway connected the main church to a smaller circular building. From his position, he watched the Sister open the door and escort Christine inside.

Where were they going? What was in that room? He started to move, but paused as the Sister came back out alone and waited by the door. All his senses grew alert as he stared at the Sister and the back of the building as the same question ran through his mind. What was in there?

Once more, he moved quietly along the edge of the trees until the Sister was out of sight. Erik stared at the stone building and saw a second door beneath a row of windows. The former Phantom moved over, pushed open the door and slipped inside. He found himself behind a large wooden frame and he peeked around into the main section. Light shone through the windows lighting the small chapel. A few unlit candles lined the right wall while the left wall was covered in gold, white, and red colored tapestries with an image of Christ in the center. A long wooden railing separated the image from the rest of the chapel. His heart began to beat faster as he remembered those old tales. He began to retreat but paused at the sound of Christine's voice. He leaned against the door and listened.

"Oh my Lord, why are you forsaking me? You put me through an ordeal by fire twice and I know I have failed, but why… ?" She shook her head. "Father how could you abandon me to this cruel world filled with such evil?" Sobs shook her body as she bowed her head. "I just don't understand. Why did you take away the music? The music I need to be able to live through these tough times."

Erik growled low in his throat and his fingers curled into fists. How could that be true? That she had been denied her music in that wretched place. To remove that was to destroy a part of her. Ever since she was a child, he had seen the spark inside of her, helping her move on from her father's death. He peeked further around and watched her. She looked so fragile and small, like the child kneeling down in the opera chapel with a candle lit for her late father. Watching her, he felt the music rise within himself and he began to sing softly.

_Wounded creature of darkness _

_What pain have you endured? _

_Your angel is here_

_You are not-_

"Who's there?" Christine's eyes darted around the chamber as she pushed herself away from railing.

Erik froze. Why did he have to ruin the moment?

"Who are you?"

Erik took a deep breath and pushed the panel back.

Christine spun around and stared at him. Yet, the fear was gone from her eyes and was replaced by a strange look. "Who are you? Why did you bring me here?"

Erik stared at her. "I brought you here to save your life and…don't you remember your Angel of-"

"There are no angels…the Angel of Music was a fairy tale nothing more. Now get out of here!" Despite her thin voice, there was a firm command beneath it.

Erik stared at her confused. Had she really forgotten the story and belief of the beautiful angel her father had told her about? He restrained himself from rushing to her and wrapping his arms around her. It was something in her eyes, not fear, but a hardness he had rarely seen.

Unconsciously, Erik touched his scarred face and sighed. "I'm sorry if I repulse you so. My mask fell away when I went to-"

Christine shook her head and took a step back, a sudden fear shining in her eyes. "Why must you keep haunting me even when I'm awake? Let me go you vile creature." She turned back and bowed her head, praying. "My Lord why must you let this demon haunt me so when there is no such thing in this world? Oh please make him go leave me in peace and return back to the fires of hell."

Erik felt his heart break as her words echoed in his mind. Yet, anger soon prevailed over the hurt as he recalled all the others who had called him similar things. Was this creature that stood before him no different than the rest? His Christine had shown him such tenderness, but this imposter was something else entirely. So fragile and scared. He could see her childlike innocence had vanished, leaving only this shell. Despite his anger, he could not ignore her. Carefully, he took another step toward her.

Christine whirled around to look at him. "No, leave me alone!" She began to back away before she collapsed to the ground from her weakened state.

Instantly, Erik rushed over and knelt down beside her. "Are you hurt?"

Christine shook her head and tried to move away from him.

Erik caught her arm, ignoring her wince of pain. "Look at me, Christine, and tell me you do not remember me or that I am just some figment of your wild mind." His voice was low, but firm.

A shiver ran through her body as she turned to look at him. Fear still shone through her eyes, but a glimmer of something else flickered through them. Gradually, she reached her hand up and rested it on his scarred face. Erik froze at the sudden contact, but forced himself to remain still.

A small spark of surprise filled her eyes. "You are real."

"You had doubts?"

She gave the tiniest nod as she lowered her hand.

Erik stared at her. What could have happened to cause her to doubt him and even his very existence? What had that asylum and the boy done to her? On that fateful night, he had let her go, believing her to be free and to have a happy life. How wrong he had been. He took a deep breath and released her arm. "Can you stand?"

Christine shrugged and tried to push herself back up. Using the wall for support, she managed to hoist herself off the ground, but her eyes never left him. "Who are you? The Angel of Music was just a silly tale."

Erik nodded and took a step toward her. "Oui, the story was a fairy tale and my name is Erik, Mademoiselle Daae."

Christine stared at him and whispered, "Erik."

The former Phantom had never liked his mortal name, but from her lips it sounded heavenly. An awkward silence fell between them as they stared at each other. Christine fiddled her hands nervously as her eyes began to wander around the chamber again.

"Is everything all right?"

Christine looked back at him. "How did you do it? Get me out of there I mean without them finding out?"

Erik let out a dry chuckle. "My dear have you forgotten the reprobation of the Opera Ghost. I did not earn it from allowing others to see me or know my plans."

"And what are your plans now? To see me recover and then abandon me like you did before."

"Abandon? I have never-"

"You…you… threw me out that night when I had promised myself to you. I only had memories to live on and the dreams…" Her voice trailed off as she looked down at her wrists.

Erik watched the strange action and followed her lead. The redness and blisters stared back at him, mocking him at being unable to protect this creature. _Now the question is what will happen? What shall we do? How can I…?_

He paused and looked at her. "I'm sorry what did you say?"

"I…I wanted to know…"

A knock on the door cut her off. "Child, are you all right?"

Christine moved back over to the door. "Oui, I'm fine. I'll be out in a…" She cleared her throat. "In a minute."

"All right." Sister Norah replied.

Christine glanced back at Erik. He walked over to her. "We shall talk later, but I believe you need your rest and some food."

"But…" He placed a finger to her lips.

"Don't strain your voice." His instructive tone took over as he looked down at her. "The food is fine to eat and you must eat."

A tiny smile twitched at the corner of her lips. She gave a small nod before she turned and slipped out of the chapel. An eerie silence filled the chamber as he stood there alone, the same questions running through his mind. What was the next step? How would they survive?

Taking a deep breath, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the ring. The candlelight caught the crystals as they glistened. He remembered giving it to his Christine that night intending to marry her. Yet, now he could not envision it with this fragile woman. He needed to reach her somehow and break through the wall she had built up.

Erik sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. "What will we do?"

He stared down at the ring a moment longer before he pocketed it again. For the moment, the most important thing was for her to recover. He glanced over at the small semi altar and shook his head. The Son of God would never help them. Erik took a deep breath and slipped back outside to eat his own lunch.

**Well there is is. I hope you enjoyed it. I know Christine may seema little OCC, but given everything she has been through I hope you can understand it. I have taken some leyway with the church discreption, but I hope it is acurate enough, but if anyway has an idea please let me know. Please leave a review. Thank you and more coming soon.**


	10. Not a Word

**Here is the next chapter. I own nothing, but the overall plot, everything else belongs to the people who have rights to the phantom. As always a big thank you for my BETAer Honeyphan. :) The title of the chapter belongs to Alan Mankin from the Little Mermaid Musical which I do not own. I hope you enjoy this chapter, even though it's a little on the short side. **

"What do you mean?" Raoul stared at the chief of police.

The other man gulped. "I'm sorry, Monsieur Vicomte, but I cannot use a good number of my men on something like this with the Germans attacking on the borders of this very city."

Raoul sighed impatiently. He had been so certain that the young ballerina could lead him to the Phantom. Yet, the damned monster had escaped once more. He was a true devil who could vanish at a moment's notice. Raoul turned to the window, the same question still haunting him. What would it take for him to finally catch the monster? How long did he have to wait?

Raoul took a deep breath and looked back at the chief. "How long can we keep them there?"

"As I told you not much longer." He paused. "Sir, may I ask …why such a hunt for this madman?"

Raoul sighed, impatiently. "I need to catch that monster, do you understand?"

"Oui, Sir." The man bowed his head. "But…"

Raoul waved his hand dismissing the comment. "Just a few more weeks, he has to come back. He has no other place to go."

The chief bowed again and left without another word. Raoul sighed as he looked at the place where the officer had stood. Part of him knew the man spoke the truth of the war and needed his men to help. The whole city was under attack from the Germans and needed the gendarmesto help keep order within the city limits. Yet, a stronger part could not let the obsession of the Phantom go. He owed it to Christine and the hundreds of others the monster had traumatized and killed to bring the fiend to justice. It would only be a few more days and the monster would be caught.

_I only want my Little Lotte to be healthy and this monster to be…._

A knock at the door cut off his musings. Confusion ran through his mind, had the chief forgotten something? He cleared his throat and ordered the person to enter.

The door creaked open to reveal a young messenger boy standing in the entrance, dressed in simple attire. He took a small step into the room, bowed quickly, and held out an envelope. "For you, Monsieur."

Raoul glanced between the packet and the boy. "Who is it from?"

"From your family I believe." The boy moved toward him, set it down on the table, and backed away.

"Thank you." His voice was short as he tossed a small coin to the messenger before he waved a dismissive hand. The boy bowed again and left.

Raoul turned the envelope around, recognizing his mother's delicate handwriting. He sighed in frustration. Was she ever going to let him live in peace? Carefully, he tore open the envelope and read the message.

_My dearest son, _

_I am sorry to inform you, but your father has insisted that you must come home immediately. We both worry about this obsession you have with being in the city and at such a harsh time. I know you have not given us all the details, but you must stop whatever you are doing there at once and come home where you will be safe. Your father has arranged a private escort to bring you back safely through the German lines. He will meet you in the lobby of your hotel. I cannot wait to hold you in my arms again. Please make haste my son and we will be together soon. _

_Your loving _

_Mother _

Raoul stared at the note. It seemed unreal as he read it a second time. How could his parents ask him to come home? To give up the hunt and his need to be here when the news of Christine's improved health came or when she was well enough to be released? What would he do?

_Are they so willing for me to give up?_ Raoul set the letter down and poured a glass of brandy. He took a sip and thought over his options. Yet, he knew the answer; if his father had insisted he could not refuse. He set the glass down and walked out of the tenement. Raoul only hoped that the plans for capturing the Phantom would work without the need for him to be in the city. Taking a deep breath, he strode down the corridor to the entrance.

He entered the lobby and looked around. A few people were talking to each other while others just sat by themselves and read the newspaper. Raoul smiled inwardly as he looked down at his clothes. Since the war had started, he had taken to wearing peasant garments when he wandered around the city and in the hotel too. It still amazed him that no one paid any attention to him.

His eyes wandered around the room again. How was he meant to know who his escort was? He paid the manager and waited at the desk. An older man in commoner's clothing moved toward him.

"Good afternoon, Monsieur Vicomte. Would you like to go for a ride?"

Raoul stared at him, on his guard. "And you are?"

The man lowered his voice. "I'm here at your father's request. Come please we haven't much time."

"How do I know you speak the truth, Sir?"

The man handed him an envelope with the de Changy family seal on it.

Raoul looked at it and back at the man.

The man smiled. "I believe your fiancée's favorite flower is a red rose and she used to sing."

Raoul blinked and then smiled as recollection set in; the man was the gardener from the country estate. "Oh it's good to see you, Monsieur Martin. But why…?"

The gardener nodded. "I am not the type they are looking for on either side, French or German. Now, shall we go?"

Raoul nodded and together the pair left the hotel into the almost deserted streets of Paris.

**XxX**

Madame Giry poured a cup of tea and sat down by the hearth. A large novel lay open on the side table, but she did not pick it up, her thoughts elsewhere. It had been almost three days since she had seen her old friend, after Meg had delivered the awful news about Christine and fear had begun to set in. What could she do? Since they had first met, she and Erik had helped each other like true companions. Yet, now she was at a loss of how to help him. She sighed and looked out the window to the street.

A group of gendarmeswere stationed outside of the tenement incase the monster returned. They had questioned her and Meg about the mystery guest and also the events of that fateful night all those months ago. Closing her eyes, Madame Giry could still picture the disaster; feeling the heat from the fire and smoke in her lungs as she and her daughter had tried to escape after the mob had resurfaced. The memories still chilled her to even think about them, but she had remained strong. She took a sip of her tea and leaned back in the chair.

"Maman, are you all right?" Meg peeked out from her bedroom.

Madame Giry smiled at her. "Oui, I'm fine and what about you?"

"I'm fine, but must they stay outside and treat us like criminals under house arrest?" Meg slipped into the living room and sighed in frustration. "And what of him and Christine? Shouldn't we be helping them?"

"We are helping them by staying here and keeping the authorities distracted. I'm certain this will pass ma cherie."

"How do you know, Maman? I feel so useless by not helping them." Her voice was soft, filled with concern.

Once more, Madame Giry smiled. Despite all that had happened, she saw her daughter's caring nature for her friend and a man, almost a stranger to her. Her daughter took after herself and the father Meg had never known.

A dull pain rose in her heart as she thought of her late husband. They had met at a New Year's Eve party, become fast friends, and had married the following June. Yet, soon after she had become pregnant, her husband had taken ill and left the world within a few weeks. Since then, she had tried with all her power to protect Meg.

Madame Giry looked at the fire. "I have faith and with this dreadful war people will soon forget about the opera house and all of this hunting. It shall all go away soon. Now why don't you go practice some of your dances?"

Meg shook her head. "What is the point? The opera will never be the same and besides the new management will not want-"

"I will hear none of that. Now go and practice and keep dreaming of becoming the Prima Ballerina."

Meg nodded, unable to refuse her mother's command. "Oui, right away, Maman."

Madame Giry sighed and took the novel onto her lap. Yet, the story would not allow her to escape. Her words to her daughter continued to run through her mind. Despite her reassurance and faith, she still had some lingering doubts. What would the new mangers think? Would there even be a reopening of the opera house with the war still brewing? She took a deep breath and leaned back in her chair again, praying for the answers to come and for the safety of those she loved.

**XxX**

Starlight shone through the kitchen windows. Christine sat in the small chamber, the scent of stew filling the room. She stared at the bowl set in front of her, her stomach growling. The whole experience in the chapel seemed like a dream as time had passed. Had it really happened? What did it all mean?

She looked at her hands and remembered the twinge in her arm from where the man had grabbed her. It had shocked her at the time and yet somehow felt familiar. And the man…Erik's face stood out to her. It was the face of the devil, but those eyes had stirred something inside her. Yet, she could not put her name on it. She tore her attention away from her hands and began to eat the stew; the meat and liquid warm on her tongue.

By the stove, Sister Norah nodded in approval. "Oui, it is good to see you eating something. It might even help you sleep and recover."

Christine swallowed and paused looking down at the stew. Could something be something in there that would drug her? Quickly, she set the spoon down and pushed the bowl away.

Sister Norah looked over at her. "Is something wrong?"

"No, I'm…just not that hungry."

"My dear, you have to eat something…." Her voice trailed off as Christine shook her head.

Sister Norah sighed and walked over to her. "What is wrong? You saw me make the stew."

Christine shook her head again. "Nothing. I'm fine really, Sister. I guess I'm just tired."

"Are you sure?"

Christine nodded. "Oui, I think I just need to go and rest."

Sister Norah paused for a moment before she nodded. She moved over and helped Christine up and out of the kitchen. A few torches lit the small corridor as the two walked toward their shared chamber. Occasionally, she glanced over at the Sister, but she did not acknowledge Christine. Had she heard anything that occurred in the chapel? If so why had she not said anything? Erik's words came back to her and she shivered. Was the whole conversation some twisted figment of her imagination? She tried to focus on anything concrete, but something kept nagging at the back of her mind.

Christine took a deep breath and looked at the nun. "Sister Norah…did you hear anything that happened in the chapel?"

Sister Norah paused. "No, that place is meant for private confession. Did something happen in there?"

Christine shook her head. "No…of course not. I was just curious."

"Child, I cannot help you if you do not tell me what is going on with you."

Christine sighed, not knowing how to answer. Sister Norah had told her about her rescuer. Yet, connecting her rescuer and the man in the chapel was too difficult to comprehend. The scene played out in her mind, but reality and dreams were merging together the longer she tried to separate them.

_Everything is so messed up_. Christine vaguely felt the Sister guiding her into the bedchamber. She allowed the other woman to help her change into a nightgown. Christine slid into the single bed as the Sister changed into her own nightgown and slid into her own bed.

Lying awake, Christine again tried to piece things together. She vaguely recalled people, almost in another life, calling her a dreamer. Perhaps she had been, but now she needed to know the truth. What had really happened to her? She drew the covers under her chin and closed her eyes. Tears began to roll down her face as a sharp pain twisted her stomach and heart. _What is happening to me? What happened...?_ Her thoughts trailed off as she slipped into a restless slumber, the silent chamber surrounding her.

**Oh so what will Christine do without Erik to comfort her? Well you will have to wait and see. I know Erik is not in this chapter, but there are other people tha are important too and will become even more later in the story. Again, I know know many people want Christine to sing more, but at the moment and where Christine has been and what she has been through singing is not something she is able or willing to do. **

**Just to clarify, Christine's time at the church has been one day, but it has been three since Madame Giry saw Erik (The trip the ayslum took him two). **

**So I hope you enjoyed this chapter and please review. :) **


	11. Use this Precious Silver

**Hi everyone I'm back. I jsut wanted to thank my failhful reviewers again. You guys keep me writing so a round of appaulse for you. :) Anyway, here is the next chapter.(A/N- I added a little bit in the middle to help avoid a plot hole my BETAer picked up) I own nothing and he chapter title is a lyric from the the musical Les Miserables which I do not own either. I hope you guys enjoy it. :) **

Christine shivered as she retraced her steps to the chapel. After a slow, but full breakfast she had been able convince Sister Norah to return to her other duties. It had been almost a week since her arrival and her strength had been steadily returning. Now, alone, her eyes had begun to wander. The late morning wind blew against her face and she watched and listened as it blew through the tall near barren trees. Dried leaves lay spread across the lawn and near the edge of the walkway.

A sense of longing gripped her. It seemed so easy to just step off the path and run into the forest, but something held her back. Though she seemed free to come and go, she was not positive of the rules of going beyond the church walls. Was this just another jail? It was freer, but the sister or Father Garen had not told her what was allowed.

Closing her eyes, she tried to calm her nervous thoughts through song. She opened her eyes and sighed. She could not feel the music. Even remembering music, she felt the coldness of the room where they had forced her in solitude and the tightness of the straightjackets. Why had those people taken the music from her?

Christine shook her head and something caught her eye. The swirl of a dark cloak slid behind a tree. Despite her immediate fear, she knew only one person who lurked around the church grounds.

A tiny wary smile curled at the corners of her lips. Since their first encounter, they had barely seen or spoken to each other. Sister Norah had kept Christine under close watch to see her recover fully. Yet, she had always felt Erik's presence near her, haunting her, but she could not remember the reason. She took a deep breath and stepped off of the path and walked toward the forests' edge.

The wind had died down, leaving an eerie stillness within the woods. Leaves crunched under her feet as she moved over to where she had seen the former Phantom, but did not find him. His own words echoed in her mind as she tried to look for him. The reputation of a ghost had to be earned. She drew her cloak tighter around herself as another shiver ran through her body. What if she had begun to turn crazy like Laralaine claiming that her husband was there? Could that be her if she kept up these games of hide and seek? She sighed and turned to go.

"Was there something you wanted?" A male voice asked from behind her.

Christine froze on the path before she slowly turned around. There the monster…Erik stood between the trees watching her. His scarred side of his face was hidden beneath a piece of cloth with a hole for his right eye. Even with the distance between them, she could see the tension and anger in him, though the reason was unknown. An eerie memory swirled in her mind. _This face which earned a mother's fear and loathing. A mask my first unfeeling scrap of clothing._

She shivered, her eyes unable to leave his face. _Why must he be made so uncomfortable?_ She shook her head. _No, he is still the monster...that haunts me so_. She almost lowered her gaze, but resolved not to. If he was the demon that troubled her, she would not give him the satisfaction of cowering before him.

He cleared his throat. "Is there something you wanted, Mademoiselle?"

Christine paused. "I… you're still here."

Erik took a step forward and repeated his question.

Christine blinked. "I only wanted to know if you were still here or not."

He looked at her skeptically. "Is that all?"

Christine nodded. "Oui, as you can see I'm well on my way to recovery so there is no reason for you to stay."

Erik took a few steps forward. "And why would you assume that I would just leave?"

She paused and averted her gaze. Why had she believed that to be true? Was it that she was now in a church following God's will that she believed herself to be free of her demons? That the Almighty would remove her pain and her demons from her life. Her head snapped up, her eyes fixed on Erik as he walked even closer. Once more, he paused and looked at her. For a moment, she stood still as she gazed into his eyes. _His eyes_, they were what haunted her so. Those eyes which held such depth had haunted her every night in her dreams. A distant memory crept into her mind as she stared at him.

_Yet, in his eyes all the sadness of the world. Those pleading eyes that both threaten and adore. _

Christine shook her head. No those eyes held no admiration, only pain and sorrow.

Erik shifted a little, his hand hovering over the cloth. "What is it? The sister thought it would be more appropriate to wear this when I see you." His voice held a mocking, bitter quality.

"I…wait. Sister Norah can see you?"

Erik chuckled dryly. "I think you took my reprobation too seriously. I am mortal."

Christine nodded. "Oui, but…we haven't spoken for a week. I thought I was getting better."

"You are, my dear. You needed to make a full recovery. I stayed away so you could do so."

She tightened her grip on her cloak and lowered her eyes. "So what are your plans?"

"What do you mean?"

"Now that I'm getting better, what do you plan to do?"

"I hadn't thought that far ahead. I only wanted to ensure you get help to recover. Though why I am so concerned is beyond me."

Christine felt the blood drain from her face, his words echoing in her mind, reminding her of what the cruel staff members would tell her. She could still feel the harsh instruments the doctors used to help her, or so they said, and she shivered. Their mocking concern ran through her mind. Did everyone think that she was some sick crazy woman? She was recovering, but why was everyone keep telling her otherwise? Tears rimmed her eyes, yet, anger soon overrode her fears as she snapped her head up and glared at the man before her. "Why does everyone insist that I am sick? I'm recovering, but people keep bringing it up and I do…don't want to talk about it. I'm not sick do you understand?"

Erik paused and took another step forward. "I…didn't mean to upset you and I did not mean it like that, but you have been through a lot, or do you deny that?"

Christine sighed and shook her head. It was true she had been through her own version of hell on earth, whether she remembered it completely or not. Looking at him, she felt some of her anger subside into confusion. What was she going to do now? Could she return to Paris and start her new life with Raoul?

After a moment, she took a deep breath. "No, I do not deny it, but what will happen now?"

Erik shook his head. "I am a wanted man. I cannot go back to Paris."

"So, what are your plans?"

Erik paused. "In truth, I don't know, my dear. We must…"

"Christine….what are you doing?" Sister Norah called.

Christine spun around and stared at the nun. Was she really not free to move about as she wished after all? Or was the Sister only concerned for her safety?

She cleared her throat. "I'll be right there."

Christine glanced over her shoulder, but Erik had vanished back into the forest again. She sighed. Erik was certainly a man of mystery. Yet, despite his distant and blunt responses she felt a strange pull to him.

"Are you all right?" Sister Norah began to walk toward her.

Christine turned back to face her. "Oui, I'm fine."

"Well, come away from there. You never know what bandits may be lurking about these woods."

Christine nodded. "Oui. I'm coming."

With one last glance back at the forest, she turned and walked back with Sister Norah toward the church.

At the door, Christine paused and looked at the sister. "Is there something wrong?"

"Oh no, but you must very careful, child, with this horrible war going on."

"I know, but…what war?"

Sister Norah stared at her. "Are you telling me that you do not know?"

Christine shrugged.

"The Germans laid siege to Paris a few weeks ago. The Third Republic is in charge now, at least that is what I hear from others. But if you did not come from the city, how did you end up in such a state when you arrived?"

Christine paused. What could she say? What had the Father and sister been told? She took a deep breath. "I…in truth, Sister, I do not remember much before coming here and the….place where I was staying, the people there told me nothing of such things."

Sister Norah smiled. "Ah, you were very sheltered than."

Christine nodded. In her childhood and the opera house, her life had been very sheltered until she was thrown into a nightmare. Tears rimmed her eyes, but she refused to let them fall and brushed them away.

"My dear what's wrong?" Sister Norah wrapped her arm around Christine's shoulder.

Christine sighed. How could she explain that she needed to see Erik again? What was the strange pull toward him…the man that haunted her dreams? Once more, she glanced back at the row of trees, Erik's words running through her mind. What were his plans? Did they include her? He was so distant when they spoke to each other. Closing her eyes, she remembered another time when they had been so close that their souls had touched each other. Yet, now they were apart in more ways than one.

_What has happened between us?_ She shook her head, already knowing the answer.

A firm hand on her shoulder brought her back. "Is something wrong, child?"

Christine blinked and glanced over at the nun. "Pardon me, Sister, I was just thinking about a few things."

"Such as?"

Christine shrugged. "Just… things."

Sister Norah nodded hesitantly. "And you won't tell me?"

Christine shifted away from her touch and walked back into the church silently. The whole front chamber was being prepared for the approaching Sunday mass. A few apples and newly dropped leaves were arranged on the window sills; the sunlight enhanced the different designs. The stone walls were now covered in tapestries from the bedchamber while the floor and the first few pews had been polished. Around the altar, the proper tools still had to be set up before the service tomorrow. A tiny smile tilted her lips up at the sight. She felt a little apprehensive of seeing more people. The fear and uneasiness of her isolation was overwhelming as she looked around the four stone walls. Closing her eyes, she imagined being outside among the trees. It had been a taste of freedom, but now she was locked back inside the church. Her heart ached, feeling the weight of her situation. Her own words echoed in her mind._ I am getting better on my own_. She shivered as the words kept rolling around. Was she truly getting better? How could she know that for certain? Shaking her head, she moved and slid into a pew, resting her head on the one in front.

Sister Norah moved over to her. "Child what is wrong? You must tell me." A firm impatience laced her tone as she put her arm around Christine's shoulder.

Christine looked at her. "I think I just need some sleep."

She stood and walked out of the room, down the stairwell, and into the shared bedchamber. Leaning against the door, she sighed deeply. All the old questions circled inside her mind with no answer. Her eyes wandered around the room until they settled on the window, looking over the lawn and into the forest. Her heart ached with a new loneliness and longing. She had felt it earlier outside on the walkway, but now it was stronger. A desire…a fierce need burned inside her as she stared out of the window. The chambers' stone walls seemed to close in on her, the isolation suffocating. Spinning around, she tried to find a way out, but how could she escape from the watchful eye of the sister? Closing her eyes, she tried to push away all the threatening thoughts and actions of the last week. Tears began to roll down her face as she tried in vain to fall asleep.

XxX

Erik paused and looked up from the parchment on his lap, the earlier conversation with the woman he had brought to this place running through his mind. It was still impossible for him to connect his angel to the imposter, and her words haunted him. What were his plans now? Returning to Paris was impossible, but they could not remain in this place forever. The image of Sister Norah's eyes as they looked at him from the pathway came to his mind. Her eyes had been cold as she had escorted Christine back inside. Had he done something wrong? He shook his head and sighed, looking down at the page in front of him.

_At least money is not a problem._ He rolled up the parchment and stood, moving over to the church. He walked around its perimeter, paused his eyes scanning the building. Despite its solid interior, the outer structure had begun to decay over the years and with the harsh winter conditions in this secluded area of the forest. The priest's fading vision had also allowed the proper, though most were small, repairs to go undone, which had given Erik an opportunity. Father Garen had agreed to pay for repairs and the plans to rebuild. Erik's lips twitched into a smile, the architect in him beginning to awaken. Unrolling the parchment, he continued to sketch on the blueprints. Yet, his mind kept wondering back to Christine. Where could they go? How would they survive? The longer they stayed here, it seemed certain they would be caught soon. He could not let that happen. The weight of all his responsibilities on his shoulders seemed to grow the longer he thought about them. He took a deep breath, rolled up the parchment again, walked over to a side door, and knocked three times.

Sister Norah opened it and stared at him coolly. "What is it you wanted, Monsieur?"

"I have business to attend to with Father Garen."

"What type of business?"

Erik opened his mouth but another voice cut him off. "Ah, there you are. Do you have some news for me?"

Erik looked over the nun and nodded to the old priest. "Oui, if I can just tell you about them."

Father Garen nodded. "Oui, come, come inside."

Erik hesitated. "Would it be too much to ask for you to come outside?"

"Come down to my office instead." Father Garen turned and walked back down the corridor and down a corner.

Taking a deep breath, Erik slid past the nun and followed the Father into a smaller study chamber. A single table and two chairs were set in the center with panel walls filled with books. Dim light flickered about from the lanterns and candles stationed around the room. Erik remembered a similar chamber in one of the caverns of his old home. A second door stood off to the left, almost misplaced with the rest of the chamber As if reading his mind, Father Garen pointed in the vague direction of the door. "There used to be another chamber back there, but it is now just used for storage now."

Erik nodded.

Father Garen cleared his throat, moved over to the table, and looked back in Erik's direction. "Well, shall we get started?"

Erik nodded and then added, "Oui, of course."

Without another word, he spread the parchment across the table and began to paint a picture of grander plans than there were needed. The intricate designs for improvement of the building were laid with detail even to the smallest nail needed. It still amazed him that his skill in designing, even only in his mind, had not faded as his musical intellect had done. A smile curled the corners of his lips as he looked up at the priest and began to explain his design. Every detail was told with care and accuracy of the structural problems of the church. The priest nodded and asked intelligent questions about the process and the hours of labor such a project would demand. Erik was prepared for all of them and found his approval for the old man growing the longer they talked. He wondered what sort of man Father Garen had been in his youth and asked about the books on the shelves behind him.

Father Garen leaned back and nodded. "Yes, I did read all these books when I was but a boy, but sadly it hurts my eyes to even try to read for long stretches of time."

Erik nodded. "Oui, I imagine that must be so."

He walked over and picked up a seamlessly random volume and flipped through it until he found the correct page. A large picture of a breathtaking mountain range stared back at him. In the margin, words had been written and arrows ran across the paper as though someone had been exploring the area. His eyes caught some familiar Spanish words, but something nagged at the back of his mind.

He turned. "Monsieur, where did you come by such a picture? It's an image of a mountain range with arrows and notes along the side."

"Traveling was not part of my life. Where is this mountain range?"

Erik looked down at the page again. "It appears to be the border between France and Spain."

"Ah yes, I remember who gave me that book. It was from a grateful young woman whose grandfather had worked in the mines before they came here. After he passed away, his granddaughter gave his books to me. I believe he and some others were working and apparently were able to find another entrance into the country by accident. The one indicated on the page."

Erik nodded to himself. There was a way to get to Spain through the mountain, using the dark. Inwardly, he chuckled to himself. He had always dreamed of being part of the world, of living in sunlight, but found that he was more comfortable in the darkness. Closing the book, he asked, "May I keep this?"

"Well, I can't read it any longer, so enjoy it. Now let us get back to business. How much would you assume this work would cost?"

Erik paused. From the little he had seen, the priest did not have enough to pay anyone for construction materials and labor. How could the old man pay him? Erik took a deep breath, his gaze wandering around the chamber. He could not let his plans go without any payment at all. After a moment, he looked back at the priest. "Well, I imagine it would take quite a lot, perhaps around four hundred francs."

"I, nor my congregation, have that much to spare."

"I understand, Monsieur, but I will not go unpaid either."

Father Garen nodded and lowered his eyes onto the table. "Oui, of course. Perhaps I could offer you some silver or something else of value that I have like these volumes which you have shown interest."

Erik shook his head. "No, I have no need for such useless things. I need the money."

"But I-"

"Then I cannot help you." He began to roll up the parchment.

Father Garen reached out and gripped Erik's hand. "No, please I…trust me the silver would bring a few pretty francs if you sold them, but please help us."

"How much silver do you have?"

The priest's eyebrows knitted together. "Well, I have candlesticks and communion plates and things of that sort, but I do not believe it would be enough for such grand plans as you have told me."

Erik nodded. "Oui."

He stood up and walked over to another table, staring at the flickering candle flames as they danced and caught the glow of silver beneath them. Despite his promise, he felt a smooth smile slide onto his face. It was true, they had a business arrangement, but the price for such small corrections was less than he had led the Father to believe. _The gadje are so gullible, but what is the harm in expanding the truth a little if it will help…_

A loud frantic knock on the door brought him out of his thoughts. Erik spun around, his hand knocking over the candlesticks. Flames began to spread behind him, memories of that fateful night of his opera raced through his mind. He heard the screams of the victims of the fire and the angry mob coming for him. Were they going to come now? What about Christine…he _must_ find Christine. On instinct, he grabbed another candelabra, turned, and ran to the second door. He felt a shiver go down his spine as he ducked into the storage room just as the opposite door opened, the flow of the nun's habit catching his eye before he closed the door.

His heart quickened as the scent of smoke filled his nose. He ran out of the room and around the perimeter of the church, his eyes searching the yard for Christine. He ran to where they had last met and paused. A few flames were just beginning to rise higher in the late afternoon sky, the smoke darkening it. His eyes grew wide, entranced by the strange beauty. _How could the fire spread so quickly?_ More painful memories ran through his mind, but he shook them away and charged back toward the burning building, calling out for Christine.

The smoke burned his lungs as his eyes squinted against the bright flames. He ripped the cloth mask from his face and pressed it against his mouth and nose as he tried to get back into the building. There was no way inside. Circling the church, he looked for another entrance, and caught sight of the small chapel. Along the path, a slender figure wrapped in a dark cloak crawled toward the separate building. Erik rushed over and knelt beside her. Christine swung her head around, startled at his touch, her large distant eyes locking with his. She coughed and choked from the smoke as Erik removed his cloak and pressed his own cloth to her mouth and nose. She tried to shove the rag away, but he leaned down close to her ear. "Just breathe, you'll be fine."

Christine paused in her fight and blinked, tears rimming her bloodshot eyes. She took a deep breath and pressed the cloth on her face.

Erik nodded and quickly fashioned a self made sack with the cloak, hiding the silver candelabra inside. He glanced back at her. "We have to get out of here. Can you stand?"

She nodded, but did not look at him.

Erik helped her to her feet. She slumped against him before regaining her footing with his arm still wrapped around her shoulders, clutching the sack too. He felt her take a few confidant steps before he was satisfied that she could run. Together they turned and headed into the forest. At the edge, Erik dared a glance back as the church glowed from the orange flames. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of the nun and priest running in the opposite direction. He sighed in relief that no harm had come to the kind Father, yet, guilt of his actions ate at him. He gulped and hurried away with Christine into the darkening woods.

**XxX**

The orange flames and smoke filled the sky as it continued to destroy the church. Yet, the sister was staring off in the direction where the strange couple had disappeared. She shook her head, a sinful hatred welling inside her. The strangers had come here, working for the devil himself: the man with his demon face and false promises and his mad mistress speaking of phantoms and keeping secrets.

They had destroyed the sacred house of the Lord. She listened silently as Father Garen told her of the conversation and what had occurred in his study. The deranged strangers had put both her and Father Garen's life at risk, and had stolen. Closing her eyes, she made a silent vow to the Almighty Father. Both of the strangers would pay for their crimes.

**So what will happen to our favoriate pair now? Well review and you'll see soon. :) As to Christine in the chapter she is still recovering from the affecs and what happened to her so she is still a little out of it in a sense, but I hope that it made sense. And I hope you enjoyed it.**


	12. What Child is This?

**Here is the new chapter. Thank you Darkgemwildcat for for reviewing the last chapter. I hope my loyal reviewers/ readers are still enjoying my story. A big thanks to my BETAer Honeyphan, (I still can't do her pen name). The title of the chapter the title of a Christmas carol. I own nothing, but the plot and the orignal characters that are not from Phantom of the Opera. I hope you enjoy. **

Raoul rode through the country estate on an old gray mare. The four day journey from Paris had taken more out of him than he thought as he looked around the grounds. Despite the autumn weather, the whole estate seemed lively and untouched by war. Back in Paris, he had felt the tension in the air whenever he strode aound the streets. He and his escort had even slowed their pace and taken side roads the entire trip to avoid unnecessary confrontation with the German troops. Now here on his family's land, he felt the familiar air of his childhood unaffected by the political turmoil in Paris. _Why was mother so concerned? Everything seems to be well in hand here. _

Out of the corner of his eye, Raoul caught sight of a lone carriage being taken into the stable. Digging his heels in the horse's sides, he trotted toward it. He halted and swung down and handed the reins to one of the stable boys.

"Merci, and who has just arrived?"

The stable boy looked over at the others attending to the horses and carriage. "Oh, it's the Comte's brother I believe, Monsieur."

Raoul nodded, but something nagged at the back his mind. Neither of his parents had spoken about his uncle coming for a visit. He hurried out of the stable and began to ascend the stairs to the chateau. In the main foyer, all the walls and floors were polished and carpeted stairwells contrasted the small cramped tenement he stayed in while in the city.

He watched as servants hurried past going about their tasks without a word to him. It seemed like a lifetime ago that he had been in this house, but now he could not call it home. The desire to be close to Christine, to hear news of her heath had not stopped growing. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, still unable to refuse his father's command to stay. What could he do? Off to the right, a set of large oak doors opened as his mother stepped out.

A warm smile spread across her face. "Ah there you are, my son. Where have you been? Oh never mind, come your uncle Jarrett has just arrived."

Raoul looked over at the open door. "Oui, of course. I was just out riding." _And was not informed of his visit_.

His mother nodded. "Oui. Now your father and uncle are waiting and I must attend to other matters." She turned to leave, paused, and looked back at him. "And I am sorry you have not heard anything of your…fiancée. But no matter you are home now and I'm certain she will be back soon. But please do not speak of her in front your uncle…any mention of engagements are painful for him."

Without another word, she turned and walked up the stairs and out of sight. Raoul stared after her and sighed. A long conversation with his father and uncle was not an event he was longing to do. He turned and walked into the parlor, the scent of wine and cigar smoke filling the air.

He gave a small nod. "Good afternoon, Father, Uncle Jarrett. You honor us with such a surprised visit."

An older man stood and smiled. "Ah, there he is, my favorite nephew. How are you my boy? I hear you have been in Paris for the past few months."

"Oui, that's true. It was a very entertaining trip, thought I must admit I was waiting for-"

The Comte stood up. "Well you must be wondering why I asked you to come home."

Raoul paused and glanced over at his father. Did his father think he did not understand his reasons for summoning him home? He cleared his throat. "Mother wrote it was because she and you were getting nervous about the damned Germans."

"That is part of it, but-"

"Oh come now Philippe let us not talk of such things when I have just arrived. Come, Raoul, and tell your dear old uncle of your time in Paris."

Raoul nodded and took a seat in a chair beside his uncle and began to tell all his stories. Soon his mind began to wander back to Christine and his mother. He glanced over at his uncle, his mother's words running through his mind. Why was his uncle so upset about engagements? No it did not matter because soon he and Christine would be together.

XxX

"I'm tired." Christine paused on the uneven path and shivered. Away from the burning church, the early night air felt damp and cool. She hugged herself for warmth and took in her surroundings. Tall almost bare trees encircled her on all sides. The last rays of sunlight shone through the braches. Her heart quickened at the view around her, unable to remember the last time she had seen such a sight. All she could remember were dark rooms or high walls which held her inside. Once more, she shivered and tried to focus on her surroundings.

A shadow in the distance caught her attention and she felt her knees grow weak as she remembered who had saved her. They had been walking in silence since they had escaped the church, a few hours ago. She still could not understand why she had gone with Erik. Her mind feared him, but somewhere inside she knew she could trust him to keep her safe.

Christine turned away from the figure. _No, that is how the devil works gaining trust only to destroy you._ She felt her back stiffen as the man turned to her.

"Are you all right?" He took a few steps toward her, but paused a safe distance away.

She nodded and stifled a yawn. "Oui, I'm…fine, Monsieur."

The man stared at her. "Monsieur? What happened to using my name?"

She glanced over at him and glared. "Like you use mine?"

Christine watched the man stiffen before he looked away. He seemed to be trying to find the right words, but in the weak light it was hard to know for certain. He shifted the cape slung under his shoulder and looked back down the path. "I know you are tired, but we must keep going. I believe there is a stream close by."

"You are ignoring my question….why do you almost always refuse to use my name."

"I hardly see the point in this argument." He turned and began to walk further through the woods as though there was no point in discussing the matter further.

Christine coughed and scowled at his retreating form. _Why is he so distant? How can he just walk away after saving my life?_

She shook her head. Even when they were connected there were times when she never understood his actions. She took a deep breath and continued to follow him further into the forest, the last rays of sunlight growing fainter every minute. After all the chaos at the church, the whole forest seemed eerily quiet except for her feet moving over rocks and fallen branches.

Twigs caught at the hem of her gown and ripped it, but she paid no attention as she continued. Her eyes kept glancing over at the waning sunlight and she gulped. She could not be in the darkness again natural or not. Once more, she found herself quickening her pace over the rough terrain, but never seemed to catch the infamous Phantom. Only the sound of something clanking together signaled that he was still there in front of her.

She opened her mouth to call to him, but paused. What if he did not want wish to talk? In all the few conversations she seemed to only be a bother to him. _How can he be so cold…that mons-ouch_

Christine pulled away, staring directly at his back. She had been so lost in her thoughts she had literally bumped into him when he stopped. Rubbing her head, she glanced around and heard the sound of rushing water behind him. Fear and relief ran through her as she looked around at the increasing darkness. She opened her mouth, but Erik cut her off. "We'll set up camp here."

"Here?"

"Oui." He swung the sack down and winced.

A small bit of concern filled Christine, but Erik brushed her off with a dismissive wave of his hand. Once more, she frowned at him and pointed to the sack. "What is in there?"

"Just insurance." Erik stood and walked a little further away, his footsteps fading.

Christine shivered and wrung the small cloth nervously in her hands. Would he just leave her here? Leave her to fend for herself like her father and everyone else in her life had done? She looked down and saw a white imprint around her finger where her engagement ring once sat. Vague memories of Raoul swept through her mind…the last time she saw him was through a half opened door talking to a strange man.

She tried in vain to remember the snippets of the conversation she had heard, but none of it came back. She sighed in frustration and looked around for Erik. The increasing darkness kept moving in around her, almost suffocating. She tried to call out, but she found she had no voice. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a flickering light a little further in the woods. She jumped as a hand slid onto her shoulder.

"It's all right." Erik lowered his hand, turned, and picked up the sack again, wincing.

"Are you…?" Christine's voice trailed off as he again waved away her concern. Taking her hand again, he said, "Come."

She pulled her hand away and gestured around them. "I thought you said we were camping here?"

"It is better to be far away from main paths and being right next to a stream is one of a main path some travelers."

Again, he took her hand and led her further into the forest until they came to a small clearing with a lit fire. Christine sighed in relief, the heat warm against her even as she stared at it. She glanced over at him, opened her mouth, and paused. His silhouette was of a man who would not tolerate the fears of a little girl. He continued to look straight ahead and moved over to the fire. He set the sack down, the same clanking noise sounding as it hit the ground.

Christine moved and pointed to the sack. "What is in there?"

Erik threw some more twigs into the fire. "Just some insurance."

"What does that mean?"

Erik looked over his shoulder at her. "Just as I said - insurance."

Christine stared at him then at the fire. "How did you do this?"

A smirk spread across his face. "I was known for a while as a magician, my dear."

Christine frowned, but nodded. _Oui, Satan's demons can be anything they want_. She shook her head and tried to get the staff's words out of her mind as she stared into the flames. The firelight cast an uneasy feeling about her as she remembered the church set ablaze. Despite the heat of the fire, she shivered and hugged herself for more warmth.

"So, where are we going?"

Erik glanced over at her as though he'd been shaken from his own thoughts. "What?"

"Where… are we going?" She felt her voice tremble, her teeth chattering.

"Spain."

Christine blinked. "Spain? Why there?"

He stood up. "Where else can we go?"

Christine opened her mouth, but he only turned and walked away. The sounds of the forest grew louder the longer she waited. Yet, the noises gave her a sense of comfort as she remembered her childhood. As a struggling traveling musician, her father and she had spent many nights alone with only the fellow forest creatures to keep them company on long nights. It had been a very lonely childhood at times, but her father had always been with her to protect and comfort her. She glanced up and stared through the trees, catching a faint glimpse of the stars above. Christine closed her eyes and sent a silent prayer to her father for his protection. She knew it was childish, but she could not help herself.

Staring at the fire, she felt her body grow weary, her eyelids heavy. She looked around, but Erik still had not returned. She knew she should wait for him, but her body would not obey. Lying down, she curled her arm under her head and closed her eyes, listening to the sounds of nature and the crackling flames as she thought over her last conversation with Erik. _Why is he so distant? And why must we travel to Spain?_ Those were her last conscious thoughts before she fell asleep.

XxX

_She felt the rough hands pinning her down on the mattress. Loud and crazy voices echoed around her through the darkness, suffocating her. Through the chaos, she kept hearing the words: devil, spawn of Satan, a monster. She tried to remember her earlier years when she had an angel's protection, but there had been no real angel. It had all been a dream of a foolish and lonely girl. The scene shifted and she was by the fire beside the very monster himself. His fierce blue eyes stared back at her, contrasting the orange flames behind him. He did not speak to her, always so distant from her. Yet, the image changed and she heard him curse and scream._

Her eyes snapped open to the sound of another curse. She sat up, looking around her. The fire had just begun to die down though the night was still hanging about them. Beside her, she heard Erik curse. She tried to get up, but something caught her attention, a flash of silver caught in the firelight. Where had they gotten such a treasure? Another low scream broke into her thoughts. She turned and saw the silhouette of a young boy, his arm caught in Erik's tight grip. He must have heard something and woken up to find the boy intruding on the camp.

Erik growled, his face unmasked, and stared down at the young boy. "What were you doing you little thief?"

The young boy trembled. "No..nothing."

"You do see why I have a hard time believing that."

The boy simply stared at him and tried to break away from Erik's fierce hold. From the firelight, Christine saw a head of brown and green eyes attached to a thin body covered in urchin cloths. A part of his right sleeve was stained with something dark. Christine gulped and watched the boy struggling. "What has he done?"

Erik turned toward her. "He was-"

He doubled over, holding his stomach as the boy darted around the fire, his blue eyes shining. Christine glanced down and moved in front of the silver, but the boy shoved passed her with surprising strength, knocking her down. She winced as she fell onto the cold ground, her hands scraping against the dried leaves. Behind her, she heard the boy's retreating footsteps as he ran into the dark forest.

She shook her head and pushed herself up and nodded to Erik's quick questions of her well being, before he ran after the young boy. Christine looked after them and shivered. What would Erik do when he found the thief? Quickly, she jumped up, grabbed a flaming stick, and ran after them. Using the small torch to light her way, she moved through the forest with haste. All the horrible things Erik was capable of ran through her mind. The sound of a struggle in the distance caught her attention as she looked around and ran toward the noise. The light of the torch cast a dim glow around the two struggling on the ground while the cape and silver item were tossed aside.

Christine looked back at Erik. "What was he doing?"

Erik did not look at her. "This little thief was trying to steal from us." He pulled the boy closer to him. "Are there others?"

The boy winced and shook his head. "Non, I…swear, Monsieur."

"And should I believe you, you filthy-"

"Let him go. He's hurt." Christine took a step toward the pair. "He hasn't got the silver or anything else. Let him go."

"Don't be fooled my dear. Thieves are known for their trickery."

"But-"

The boy shook his head again, a growl of irritation and fear in his voice. "I'm not…a thief…Monsieur please let me go."

Erik glared at the boy, watching him tremble.

"Monsieur, please…"

Erik glanced over at Christine, ignoring the child's pleas. "We can't stay here. We have to move."

"What about the boy?"

Erik looked between them. "We shall take him with us."

The boy opened his mouth, but lowered his eyes to the ground. Erik dragged the child and the sack back toward the encampment, the firelight glinting against the dark landscape.

He glanced back at Christine. "I left a bucket of water on the other side. Could you douse the fire?"

Christine's eyebrows knitted together. "Why?"

"We have to move now."

"What do you mean?"

"Just do as I say."

Christine said nothing and moved to where he had instructed, but her eyes never left him. Erik set the sack down and removed his lasso from the cloak, tying it around the child's wrists. Dousing the flames, the small group was enclosed by darkness except for the stars above the trees. Christine felt her heart beat faster as she looked around for any large source of light except for the torch she still held. She listened as Erik picked up the sack, swung it over his shoulder, and grunted in pain.

"What's wr-?"

"I'm fine." Erik took hold of the rope and glanced back at Christine. "Did you get enough sleep?"

Christine nodded. Despite her body protesting with sore limbs and exhaustion, she would not allow herself to be weak. And the dreams….every time she closed her eyes she dreamt of the same horrible events. She took a deep breath, pushing the old fears away. Turning, she followed Erik and their small new acquaintance deeper into the forest, the firelight from the torch shoving away the darkness.

**Well there it is. Please review and let me know what you think, good, bad, any critics would be most helpful. I hope you enjoyed this chapter :) **


	13. Getting to Know You

**Here is the next chapter. Thank you for all who reviewed the last few chapters. I means a lot. Again another huge thanks to my BETAer, she is the best. Song title is from the King and I musical. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter. :)**

Late the next afternoon, Raoul found himself wandering aimlessly through the chateau. His mother's announcement of ball coming soon had brought his mind back to Christine. He had not heard a word from or about her in months. Had she gotten worse? Were the physicians and nurses giving her enough attention to help her? He could still see Christine's haunted and frightful look when he had found her smashing the mirror; her sore and bloody hands a physical scar of what the monster had done to her.

Raoul remembered his promise to his Little Lotte of taking her away from all the horrors of the opera house. Yet, she had insisted on returning; only to fall prey to the Phantom's spell once more. Over and over again, he wished he had ignored her request and taken her away. His hands curled into fists as he cursed the Phantom and turned a corner, heading for his study; there was no reason the monster should be allowed to be free.

As he ascended the stairs, he found himself forming a plan to capture the monster once and for all. All his other plans had failed, but he had begun to replay the events at the opera. Perhaps there was a pattern or something else he could use to outwit the famous genius as Madame Giry had called him. Raoul almost chuckled to himself; the Phantom was a genius that had turned to madness, which had been passed to his beloved Christine.

Only she was getting help and was soon to become the healthy bright eyed girl he had known in his childhood. He smiled at the thought and continued on his way to the study. He passed his father's office and heard his father and uncle in discussion and wanted to pass by without disturbing them.

Yet, something caught his attention and he froze, replaying his uncle's words in his mind. "I am terribly sorry to hear of the trouble with the Daae girl."

Cautiously, he moved back to the door that stood ajar. He knew it was childish, but his uncle's mention of Christine gave him pause. Neither he nor his father had heard news of Christine's health in almost two months. Sending Christine away had been a closely held secret within the immediate family. How could his uncle know anything? He stood near the door and listened.

A glass of brandy was poured before he heard his father's response. "Yes, well the girl had gone mad after the disaster at the opera house. She always was speaking nonsense of angels, phantoms, and her teacher. It was quite an act."

Uncle chuckled darkly. "Aren't they all quite the little actresses?"

"Oui, they are." He paused.. "And I thank you for the recommendation for the girl. God only knows what would have happened if you had not told me of such a place."

"You're welcome, brother, and maybe now your son can start focusing on other women. Women within our circle who are well bred."

"Are you certain all of those women are like that?" A slight teasing laced his voice.

"Well, there are exceptions to every rule."

_Could Christine not be an exception? Even if she is not from their circle._ Raoul strained to hear more.

"Are you talking of one in particular? The beautiful, blonde-"

"Backstabbing little harlot who dishonored me and denied me a rightful hair." He chuckled. "Oui, then she went mad as well, which is how I found the hospital."

A moment of heavy silence fell between them. Raoul waited with baited breath, both confused and interested. Was that why his uncle had been so adamant about his attending other parties and conversing with all the young ladies? His own wife had been unfit for the role, but he was certain Christine could live up to the task when she returned.

It had been his uncle's idea for the hospital. Surely he had suggested it, with the thought that she would get better. Yet, what they said confused him. He had never known his aunt and Uncle Jarrett said she had gone to same place. Yet, it was a well known fact that she had died a week after childbirth along with the child. How could both be true?

_No, that is no possible._ He shook his head, deciding he had misunderstood, and was about to leave when he heard the sound one of the other doors opening inside the study.

"Oui, what is it, Simon?"

The sound of footsteps echoed as the butler walked into the room. "A note came from Monsieur Laurent."

Raoul pushed himself away from the wall and knocked on the door.

"Oui, who is it?" the Comte asked.

Raoul pushed the door open. "Father, it's me."

His father waved at him to enter. "Oui, come. I have just received some news from Monsieur Laurent."

He picked up a small knife, opened the seal, and withdrew the letter. His eyes scanned the short note as color drained from his face.

"What is it, Father?"

The Comte shook his head and folded the letter. "It…would appear that your Daae has somehow disappeared."

"What?" Raoul snatched the letter from his father, mumbling an apology, and looked at it.

His eyes scanned the note without taking in all the words except for the passage of her disappearance. No one knew how she had escaped. They found one of the nurses unconscious in her room and one the guards had been killed by something choking him, though how it had happened was a mystery. Raoul smirked at the word mystery, it was no mystery and he cursed himself for having not suspected it. He had thought she would be safe away from Paris, but the villain had found and taken her from him again. He felt himself crinkle the paper in his hand as he tossed it into a waste bin, and turned to his father.

"Are we going to do something? That monster has her, Father, we have to do something!"

His father placed a hand on his shoulder. "We will, my son, but don't you start going mad too. We are in the middle of a war and the last thing we need is to go and lose ourselves too."

"But-"

"I promise you, we shall have people go and check on the situation, but you must remain calm."

Raoul stared at his father, his last words running over in his mind. "How could this happen? People were supposed to check in on her. Did you even send people, Father?"

His father frowned. "Of course I did, but I will not be spoken to so disrespectfully in my own home. I have promised to look into the matter. For now compose yourself. We have a dinner to attend this evening."

Raoul opened his mouth to protest, but a look from his uncle told him to stay quiet.

Raoul sighed in frustration and gave a small, reluctant nod. "Oui, Sir."

With that, he turned on his heel and walked out of the room and down the long corridor, his footsteps echoing loudly down the empty passage. Again, he cursed himself for not seeing the possibility of the Phantom getting to her in the hospital.

Raoul clenched his fists and entered the massive library. His eyes scanned the different volumes, as his father and uncle's conversation ran through his mind. Could it be possible his aunt was in that place too? What crime had she committed that turned his uncle away from the woman. He had heard both the rage and anguish in his uncle's voice when spoke of the unfit heir and the madness that had befallen his wife. Would that be him someday if he was not able to locate his Christine before the monster stole her forever? He shook his head, pulling out a large brown covered book and began to flip through it quickly. Finally, he paused and examined a map, wondering where the villain had taken Christine.

_He would be a fool to come back to Paris and even stay in France._ His eyes and fingers scanned the map and smiled. There was only one escape route for him, Spain. Closing the book, a look of triumph spread across his face. The Phantom would not win this time.

**XxX**

The cool air fell heavy around the small group as they continued to head south. Over the last few hours, they had formed a line with Erik leading the way, the boy trailing behind him, and Christine to the side or rear of the group. None of them spoke except Erik, occasionally checking on Christine's welfare, her reply always being that she was fine. Yet, the longer they walked, the more strain she felt on her sore body. Each step seemed to cause more agony in walking over the uneven terrain. The sun had begun to descend and she shivered as the chilly air blew around them.

She noticed the child trying to ignore the cold, though his small body shook; the air slicing through the thin rags he wore. Yet, he made no noise, allowing himself to be dragged behind Erik. She yearned to be able to talk to one of them, but something told her to keep silent. Instead, she focused on observing the child.

Dirt and other dark smutches covered his arms and legs where the rags cut off. The thin fabric of the cloth draped around the child's skinny body did little to protect him. His unkempt brown hair hung around his face as he kept shaking his head, as though keeping it out of his eyes all the time. Christine's heart went out to him. Despite his being a thief, he was still a child. She a felt a small pain in her stomach and turned her attention elsewhere. Yet, her gaze continued to return to the child.

As though he sensed her watching, he glanced over his shoulder and stared at her. His chapped lips were turned down in a scowl, but his eyes shone with uncertainty. Looking at her, he lost his footing and tripped, almost crashing into his captor.

Erik spun around and glared at him. "What are you doing?" He moved and pulled the boy roughly to his feet. "Keep your eyes on the path."

The boy spit at him.

Erik wiped away the spittle and drew the boy closer. "Do you forget who you are addressing? That it is I who allows you to continue to live?"

Christine stumbled toward the pair. "It was a simple accident. Please…" She shivered, remembering the punishments the staff members preformed. "Please…don't hurt him. It was an accident, I swear."

Erik glanced over at her. After a moment, he released his hold on the boy and turned around. "Come, we must keep moving."

"Why is there such a rush?"

"I told you it is not safe for us out here with the war and everything going on."

"The…war has not touched here and-"

"And we shall not be here when it does. Those damned Germans are well trained and I gather it will not take them long to take over Paris and then who knows what will happen. Now come." The note of finality ceased any further conversation. Erik turned and walked a little further away, dragging the child behind him again.

Christine sighed and rubbed her head. The sister had also mentioned a war, but neither she nor Erik told her of the actual details. And the child, he seemed to be taking his frustrations out on him. Why did he harbor such hatred if he was not a devil? She rubbed and blew into her hands and wished she had thought to bring a cloak with her. Closing her eyes, she saw the flames of the church again, but quickly pushed those thoughts away. Now was not the time to worry about the past. She turned, quickening her pace and followed after the man and child.

Once more silence fell over the small group as Erik began to set up camp. Christine sat on the side, instructed to watch over the silver and rest while Erik preformed all other tasks. Christine placed her hand on the silver, still hidden in the cloak, but soon found her gaze wandering around the small campsite. Her breath caught in her throat as she saw the child tied to a tree across the fire pit Erik had constructed.

The boy said nothing and kept his eyes on the ground, not even bothering an escape attempt. He brought his knees up to his chest and rested his head upon them as though he was just as tired as she was. She kept her eyes on Erik as he continued to set up camp and the fire.

Dusting himself off, he turned to her. "I'll be right back. I have to get some water from a stream I saw a little further away."

Christine's heart jumped. Was he really leaving her and the child alone? Did he trust her not to run away or release the child? She glanced at him, nodded, and watched him walk further into the forest. She listened until his footsteps had faded away before she moved over to the child. If he heard her approach, he gave no sign, and she knelt down a little bit away from him.

"Hello?" She said, gently.

The child glanced over at her but remained silent.

"Are you all right?"

Again, the boy said nothing but shifted himself, perhaps to find a more comfortable position.

Christine bit back a gasp as she saw the bloody cuts that covered the child's bare feet. She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath before she tore some of her sleeve off. The boy raised his eyebrows at the action and withdrew. She leaned in closer.

"It's okay….I just want to wrap your feet…so they don't get infected, and give them at least a little protection."

The boy seemed to debate her words for a few moments before he lowered his legs onto the ground and aimed his feet at her. Carefully, she began to wrap the small piece of cloth around his right foot. She bit her lip and mumbled an apology when she heard him moan. She did the same with his left and tied a short knot at the top. She gave him a small smile. "There. Is that better?"

The boy nodded, looking down at her small but neat handiwork. "Merci."

Christine blinked, uncertain if she heard the boy. "Pardon?"

"Merci, for this." He gestured to his banged feet.

"Oui, you're welcome. Can you tell me what your name is?"

The boy said nothing.

"What…do people call you?"

"My Maman called me…Orane."

Christine tested the name in her mind. It was not a common name and yet somehow it suited the child. His voice was so soft and rough from growing up in the country unlike the smooth, silk speech of those in the city and the nobility. "Um…where is your Maman?"

The boy…Orane said nothing and shifted his gaze away from her, his smile turned into a deep frown. His blue eyes had narrowed into slits and he brought his knees back up to his chest. He let out a small moan as his wrists rubbed against the rope, but he said nothing else to Christine.

She sighed and attempted a sort of truce. "I'll be over there if you need anything."

Orane made a small noise of acknowledgement but did not look at her again. Carefully, Christine moved back to the hidden silver. A hand touched her shoulder and she jumped back, staring up at Erik.

"What are you doing?" He set down two small containers of water. "Was something wrong?"

Christine removed her hand from over her heart and shook her head. "No, but must you sneak up on me so?"

"And must you go against my orders? I told you to stay away from the boy."

"Orane."

Erik stared at her. "What?"

"His name is Orane."

"He's a no good thief that we are now saddled with." Christine opened her mouth to object, but he continued. "I just want you to be careful. If given the chance he will turn on you…" His voice trailed off as though he was lost in thought.

After a moment, Christine reached out and touched his arm. "Are you all right?"

Erik shook his head and pulled away from her. "Oui, I'm fine. Get some sleep. You look exhausted."

Christine gulped and glanced around the forest as the sunlight disappeared. She felt her body willing her to follow his advice, but her mind would not rest. She could not go back to the world of nightmares. She almost chuckled at wishing for the drug the staff used to give her. _At least then I was temporarily freed from my demons._

Her gaze rested on Erik for a moment, the staff members' words running through her mind. She shook her head, confusion and exhaustion pounding against her skull. Reluctantly, she lay down near the fire but never closed her eyes. She shivered as she sensed Erik moving closer to her, draping his cloak over her. She listened as he went back to his spot and drew the cloak he had given her under her chin. _What is going to happen to us? Why is he so rough with Orane? How much further is it to Spain?_ Her weary thoughts trailed off as her exhausted and sore body claimed her in slumber.

**XxX**

Erik flicked another twig into the fire, watching the flames swallow it whole. Yet he did not feel the fire's warmth. He glanced over at the child and sighed.

What had possessed him to take the boy – a petty thief- with them? It would only slow them down. Yet, he could not let the boy go or alert the authorities either. He sighed in frustration and shifted his eyes toward the slumbering Christine. Over the last few days, he had seen and heard her thrashing around in her sleep, caught in the terror she had witnessed. He knew it all too well but could bring himself to soothe her as he had done in the past. She had made it clear she wanted nothing to do with the spawn of Satan.

As he watched, he saw her face calm as peace finally overtook her slumber. He wondered how long the peaceful dream would last, not to mention their odd semi truce in traveling together. For what seemed the tenth-thousandth time that day, he wished things could go back to the way they were at the Opera House before the damned Viscount had appeared. They had been happy, but now Erik could barely look at her without remembering his actions. The creature slumbering only a few feet away had a somber beauty about her and kind to others, as always, but not his Christine. What could he do to get her back?

**Well, I hoped you enjoyed the chapter. Hopefully** **I answered the question of why Erik is acting cold towards her with these last section. Please review and let me know what you think. More coming soon and thank you.**


	14. Climb Every Mountain

**Here is the next chapter. It was meant as a Christmas or Holiday preasent for my faithful readers, but I had some things I hae fix up. So, it turned into a New Years gift instead. I own nothing, but the characters not in the Phantom of the Opera. Thank you again to by BETAer who pionted some things out to me and I hope I fixed them well. (A/N I'm sorry I forget to give this chapter a title. This tlte is from The Sound of Music, the musical. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter. **

Christine bolted awake and sat up, the cloak falling to her lap. She blinked rapidly, pushing the nightmarish images from her mind. In her dream, she had seen and heard the staff and the crazy voices of the other inmates. They had all surrounded and taunted her. Her breathing was shallow as she looked down at her wrists, the faint red indentations and scars from the chains still visible in the last fragments of firelight. They mocked her and forced her to remember the pain she had endured and she averted her eyes at the memory. There had been no Prince Charming on a fine horse to come to her aid. She tried in vain to remember who had put her in such a place, but it did not matter.

She had escaped with the help of the same demon she had been told numerous times did not exist. Cautiously, Christine glanced over to the silent figure hunched over, his back to the flames. His shoulders sagged as though he bore the weight of guilt and regret. Still, he held his head high, probably keeping watch as he had done over the last few days. Unconsciously, her hand moved and caressed the silver, the metal ice cold under her touch. She closed her eyes and sighed.

Over the last few days, their small group had fallen into a routine of rising before dawn and traveling until just before sunset with Erik at the lead, Orane in the middle, and Christine in the back. None of them spoke, instead walking in an awkward agreement of silence, except when asking for food, water, and personal needs. Their diet consisted of fruit and water, but even that was growing scarce as they moved closer to the mountains which separated their country from Spain. How were they going to get over them with no aid? Pressing her lips together, she pushed herself away from silver, grabbed the cloak, and took a few steps toward their leader.

His voice, though soft, seemed to cut through the air. "Couldn't you sleep?"

Christine shook her head but realized he had not turned around to face her. She took a deep breath. "No."

"Was it the nightmares? I heard you mumbling in your sleep."

She paused. "Why…why did you not wake me then?"

"You needed the sleep, no matter how unpleasant. You cannot go without rest or your body will wear itself out."

"You do not sleep."

Erik shifted and looked over his shoulder at her. "That is different."

Christine frowned. "How?"

"It just is. Now go back to sleep, my dear. We still have a long journey ahead of us."

"How much longer do we have to go?"

"Unfortunately, we still have a long way."

Christine surveyed the dark forest until she found herself looking beyond Erik. "…How will we make it across the mountains?"

Leaves crunched under his feet as he stood up and walked toward her, his eyes following her gaze. "We'll get through….even with the boy."

Christine glanced over at Orane who was shifting to find a comfortable position to sleep. "Are you certain?"

Erik nodded. "Oui."

"But, where in Spain shall we go?"

"I have not thought that far ahead, but I will let you know soon."

She frowned again and opened her mouth, but he had turned away from her, returning to his post of lookout. Running her hands through her hair, she sighed, anxious. How could she just follow him to a distant country she knew nothing of? Why was she following him without question? Did he still have power over her like he had at the opera house, though she remembered little of her life there?

A cold wind blew around her as the words and taunts of the staff members echoed in the near silence. _He will lead you to the fires of hell if you follow him_. Christine shook her head, but still the voices would not cease. _Why won't he speak more on the matter if he were being honest? Has he ever been honest with yo_u?

Once more, she shook those thoughts away. They were wrong. He saved her from that terrible place; yet, something still made her uneasy about him. Christine raised her eyes and looked at his back. He was not being completely honest with her. Every time she tried to converse with him, he became distant from her when all she wanted to do was make more of his acquaintance.

Even as the thought crossed her mind, she looked down at her left hand. An image of a ring that had once been on her finger floated through her head. Yet, he the man she loved was not even here. Tears began to roll down her face as she came to the sickening truth. She was all alone with no one to care for her. Erik provided her with the basic needs of food, water, and fire, but he acted as though she was a child.

The sound of a soft cry brought her out of her thoughts. Christine turned and stared at the trembling small figure against the tree. She glanced over at Erik again, but he ignored the noises from Orane. She took a deep breath and walked over to the gypsy, but stayed a short distance away. "Are you all right?"

He paused his moving around and bowed his head.

She sighed, shifted over to the right, allowing the small firelight to illuminate his face, and then knelt down. "Are you all right, Orane?"

He raised his head and stared at her, his eyes glistening with tears. "I…I…heard you yelling….I thought….they may be here?"

Christine cocked an eyebrow. "Who?"

Orane shook his head. "No one."

Christine reached out and rested her hand on his knee. "I'm…sorry if I frightened you. No one's coming, Orane, but that's not what you were crying about was it?"

Once more, he shook his head.

Christine lowered her gaze to the ground. "Do your feet hurt?"

He shifted away from her, as though ashamed.

"It's all right. I only mean to check on them so they do not come to more damage."

He glanced over and snarled. "I'm fine."

Without another word, he turned away, and rested his head on his knees, a sign of dismissal. Christine sighed and nodded to herself before returning to her own established area. Why should she care about the little thief so much? Once more, her eyes wandered and settled in the direction Erik looked. He was correct; a child now complicated their travel and winter coming in only a few weeks. As a young girl, she and Father had spent many cold nights on the streets when he had been unable to get work.

She could still feel the harsh wind brushing past her small body as she tried to stay warm next to him, under a small jacket. Unconsciously, she drew the cloak up and wrapped it around her shoulders, bringing her knees to her chest. It seemed so strange. Despite the years, she still felt like a child. Only this time, no one was there to comfort her. Lying down, she tried to focus on anything else, to stay awake. Erik's words ran through her mind. How could he know what the nightmares were like? He never spoke more than few words to her and yet somehow she sensed he truly did know. What demons did he have to deal with? She glanced over at Erik, but he never looked at her. Closing her eyes, Christine tried in vain to sleep.

XxX

The late morning sun hung high in the sky by the time the group paused at the base of the mountain. A yawn escaped her as her eyes grew wide. An image of the massive brick walls which had surrounded the asylums' courtyard filled her mind. How where they going to get over? She recalled Erik's words from the previous night and stared at Orane, who was for once alone. How could such a fragile child climb a mountain? It seemed impossible. Uncertainly, she looked around and spotted Erik a little ways off. Biting her lip, she walked over and followed his gaze to a small dirt path which disappeared into the rock formations further up.

Christine gulped and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. "Is this where we will start to climb?"

Erik's eyes remained on the path. "Oui, it is the widest area, but it will get narrow quickly."

She nodded. "But what about Orane, how shall he climb?"

"He'll manage."

"But-"

Erik turned and stared at her. "He'll manage."

Christine craned her neck up to see the mountain. "And this will take us into Spain?"

"It will. Now come we have a lot of ground to cover."

She watched him leave before she craned her neck back, examining the mountains' side. She pressed her lips together, her legs suddenly weak. As a dancer, her legs had been able to execute strenuous movements, but now she felt her legs give out at the very idea of such a thing. How could a child climb such steep areas without any training? She turned at the sound of footsteps as Erik and Orane came toward her.

Erik paused for a moment. "Are you ready?"

Christine shook her head. "Non."

Erik stared at her.

"Look at these mountains. Do you honestly think we can climb these in our states of health?"

He craned his neck, examining the rock formation again. After a moment, he turned to her. "You're right, I suppose I miscalculated our chances of climbing. I will find another way to get us through."

He turned around, pulling Orane behind him and began to circle the mountain again, with Christine silently following them. After a few minutes, Erik paused and pointed up a small path that ran into the mountain. "There, we can go through the mountain instead of over it."

Christine nodded. Erik moved in front of her, pulling Orane behind him with Christine at the end as they walked into the mouth of the mountain. Their process was slow, but steady as the day wore on. Christine felt shivers of fear run down at her spine, the darkness surrounding her on all sides. She tried to keep her eyes on the path in front of her, carefully watching where she placed her feet, using the wall as a guide as well.

The deeper they went inside the cold mountain, the deeper the darkness grew. She tried in vain to keep up with the others, but the darkness hid them from her. Only the sound of their footsteps showed their presence. Never once did she hear a complaint or any notice any trouble in scaling the mountain from Orane; it was as though he had done harder exercises than this in his short life.

_Where has the boy come from?_

She felt her foot slip as her body began to fall forward, off the ledge. A loud scream of terror and a single word escaped her lips as her sleeves tore. She felt herself falling until a firm hand grabbed her waist and pulled her to safety. In almost one fluid motion, as though she was just a rag doll, Christine was back on the edge, beside him.

Her breath came in slowly as she blinked and stared at him. How had he come to her aid so quickly? Was he not in front of their little group? Other questions raced her mind, but only one slipped from her lips. "How?"

Erik glanced over at her, a small glint of something in his eye. "Has your angel ever failed to help you when able to do?"

Christine blinked. "What do you mean?"

Erik smirked and turned away from her. "I'll let you figure it out, angel. Now come we still have a lot of ground to cover."

Gently, he took her wrist and led her away from the ledge and back to the main path where Orane stood. She felt him release her wrist and heard his footsteps as he resumed walking the trail. His words replayed over and over in her mind. Had the Angel of Music ever failed in protecting her? She shook her head. No, he was a demon from hell, the scars on his face and his cold demeanor proved as much.

Yet, he had saved her again. A demon would have never saved her, but did that make him an angel? She shivered as the wind swirled around her; the breeze echoing her scream from the fall. Once more, she shook her head, turned, and followed Erik and Orane; the same questions running through her mind as she and the others continued through the mountain.

**Well, I hope you enjoyed this installement to the story. Please let me know what you think, good, bad, whatever. I wish you all a Happy New Years and a late Happy Holidays everyone.**


	15. Every Path You Know

**Here is the next chaper. You all have been very pataint with me and for that I an grateful. Note, I made a snamm change to chapter 11 cause my BETAer pionted out a little plot hole, opps my bad. It will not affect this chapter, but just thought I would mention it as a good little author. :) Song title comes from The Sound of Music musical. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter. :) **

Sister Norah prayed once more as she stared out toward the church ruins. Not a day went by that she did not sin for hating that demon and his mistress who had brought the sacred house of God to its knees only a month ago. Since then, Father Garen had taken ill and they were residing with one the members from their congregation. Right after the fire, there had been calls for rebuilding the church, but the effects of the war had dampened or wounded spirits and cash. So the ruins remained a constant reminder. Sister Norah scowled as she stared in the church's direction. _That demon and harlot can rot in hell_.

Crossing herself for her blasphemous thoughts, she turned away from the window and began scrubbing the counter clean. With nothing else to occupy her time with and to repay the hospitality, she had taken to cleaning one of the townspeople cottages while the mother dealt with the children and the father was away for the day. It was tedious work, but she was glad to be of service in some way for people and for God. Yet, something kept nagging at her. Silently, at night she would listen as Jean relayed the rumors he would hear from others about the war in and around Paris. More bombings while the city residents had been reduced to eating cats and other animals to survive.

Each passing day seemed to weaken the strength of the city. What would happen if Paris surrendered? The same thoughts were on everyone's mind, but none spoke of it as though speaking it aloud would lead to it being true. Sister Norah thought of that wicked couple. Were they omens of the misfortune that was to befall France? Each night, images of the fire and the pair slipping away entered her dreams until she woke at Father Garen's request for some water or anything else he needed. Wiping her forehead, she sighed in defeated frustration. Nothing was ever going to be the same again.

"Sister Norah?" Father Garen called from his pallet set in the corner.

She turned at his voice. "Oui what do you need, Father?"

"Water."

"Of course, Father, a moment please."

Quickly, she placed the dirty cloth down and moved to the door. She paused at the sound of Father Garen's violent cough. His sight and breathing had grown worse and his hands shook when he spoke. Taking a deep breath, she crossed herself before she ducked out of the house and into the yard.

The late November air threatened to blow her wimple from her head as she walked over to the small well in the back. She watched the heavy bucket swing back and forth as she pulled it up from the black depths. The rope felt worn in her hands and she wondered how it was still intact after so many years. She glanced back at the cabin and hurriedly untied the bucket. In the background, she could hear the children playing in the forest, their cries of joy warming her heart. Not wishing to disturb their fun, she moved back to the cabin and slipped silently back inside.

The heavy bucket banged against her sore knees as she carried it over to the small counter. Carefully, she poured the water into a small cup and moved to Father Garen's side. She knelt down next to him and lifted his head to drink. He took a few slips before he waved it away. Another coughing fit jarred his body, and some water came up. When he settled down, Norah mumbled something under her breath and patted his back gently as though he were a child.

Father Garen turned his ear toward her. "What…did you…say?"

"Oh, I…was only talking to myself."

"Would…you like to discuss it?"

Sister Norah shook her head. "Oh, no, Father, I'm fine and you need your rest. I'll…"

"Come now…tell what troubles you. My eyesight may be gone, but I can still hear." A loud cough escaped as he sat up and covered his mouth with his hands.

Sister Norah patted his back again until he settled down on the mattress. Biting her lip, she sighed. "Father, I cannot get that….man…out of my mind. He is the cause of all our misfortune at the moment. He and the woman were Lucifer's servants I have no idea why you helped them."

Father Garen moved his hand until it found hers. "Oh, Sister, why do you insist on such ideas? They were merely weary travelers who needed our help. The fire was an accident."

"No accident could cause what has happened with the church and this dreaded war with those Germans."

"I doubt they can be held responsible for the war, Sister. Be reasonable."

"Well maybe not for the war, but the burning of the church was definitely their fault and you cannot deny that Father."

Father Garen sighed and leaned back into his bed. "Let me, sleep, dear Sister. I am tired."

Sister Norah nodded. Yet, she felt the familiar dread any time he mentioned sleep, wondering if it was to be the last before he entered eternal slumber. In truth, he was a father to her in more ways than one. Her own parents had died when she was thirteen with no other relations. So, she had turned to the one place left for her, the church. Father Garen had taken her in and allowed her to enter his service as a nun after years of training. She knew everyone left this earth and received their final judgment of heaven or damnation.

Still, she could not bring herself to think Father Garen would soon leave her. He was getting old, but the fire had taken away a few more years of his fading health. What would she and the community do without him to help lead them through these terrible times? Sister Norah sighed and took leave of his side. She walked back to the window, watching the glorious sun play against the open fields as though bathing the earth in heaven's light of hope. Toying with the rosary, she bent her head and prayed for Father Garen's health.

**XxX**

The fire crackled in the small hearth, surrounding the cabin with its warmth. Sister Norah sat beside Father Garen's cot eating supper while the rest of their host family sat at a table. She smiled as she watched the family laughing and discussing their day amongst themselves.

"Jeana, how is the job?" Her mother asked, setting her spoon down.

"It's going well, Maman." A light, cheery voice answered. "I can't wait to go back tomorrow."

"I can't understand why you chose such a job?" Her father said.

Sister Norah turned slightly, her own curiosity getting the better of her as she looked at the family. She had known the whole family for years, but had rarely seen the eldest girl, Jeana, except on holidays when she came to church. She could assume that the girl was now home for some break.

Her mother shook her head. "Oh come now, Francis, you know the last few years haven't been good for us."

Norah found herself leaning in closer to listen, agreeing with her hostess. She had always silently admired the girl's ambition for work and her compassion for those lost souls in that dreadful place was a gift from God, given to her so she could ease the pain of others. Though she knew it went against the Bible to openly encourage her in pursuits other than being a good wife and mother, Norah could not see the young Jeana being happy as just someone's wife. Her attention was drawn back as Father Garen's coughs returned, but she kept an ear open, listening while she tended to him.

"What's going on, Jeana?" one of the younger children asked.

A shameful smile crept onto her face. "Oh…it's that I heard the Vicomte de'Changy may be coming in two days time." Norah glanced over as Jeana's shoulders slumped. "At least that's what some the staff's saying."

Her father's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Why would he be going there?"

"Well…there was this monster who came and stole of the girls two months ago when I home for a visit."

Her mother gasped. "Oh, no talk of that and in front of the children too."

"Maman, it's true. The man wore a mask and stole one of the patients in the middle of the night. Madame Adeline was in shock for days, and some people thought she might have to be committed herself."

Norah felt her heart skip a beat as she listened. Could it be possible that her demon and the strange man were the same? She cleared her throat. "Jeana, do you know anything else about the man?"

Jeana looked over at her, her eyebrows knitted together trying to remember. "I…I think they said he wore a white mask and had a face of a demon, but I don't know myself. I was off that week."

"Of course…I was only wondering." She stood up and moved over to the table. Pouring some more soup into her bowl, she asked, "Did you hear anything else?"

"Only that he seemed interested in one person….a young woman in the lower levels. I'm in the upper ones."

"Why such curiosity, Sister?" Jeana's mother asked.

"Oh…it is nothing." She paused and pressed her lips together, clutching the rosary in her free hand. "But if you happen to see the Vicomte ask him to come here. I may have something to tell him."

Without another word, she walked back to Father Garen's side, aware of the family's eyes following her.

**XxX**

Christine yearned to see the sun as she continued to walk through the dark mountain. Their process was still slow, though she could not tell how long they had been traveling. Her only sense of time was Erik telling them when to rest and when she woke stiff from lying on the hard dirt floor. Every now and again, she felt the darkness crush her just as it had at the asylum, only then to sense Erik's presence beside her as though he had read her thoughts. He only said a word or two, but she instantly felt safer when he was near as though he could fight back the darkness himself. She smiled, thinking of those times as she leaned against the wall, instructed to stay while he went ahead to survey the area. How could the nurses call him a demon when his mere presence eased her fears like an angel? She paused on the path, replaying the notion in her mind. He wasn't an angel and yet somehow that title seemed to suit him.

_Why can't I remember anything? His presence seems so familiar and yet…._

A familiar quick tug on her arm broke her out of her thoughts. She looked down seeing Orane's silhouette. "What is it, Orane?"

"Ho…." His voice trailed off.

"Is it your feet? Has something happened?"

"No." He said quickly before he paused as though considering his question. "How much longer do we have to be in here?" A small note of fear laced his voice.

"I don't know. Why don't you go ask-?"

"He doesn't like me."

She shook her head, smiling. Despite his claims Erik had trusted the boy enough to release Orane from his bonds once they had gone deep enough into the mountain, taking the sliver from her instead, perhaps thinking the chance of Orane escaping with his life were slim. Yet, through the tough façade, he was still only a young boy.

Christine took his hand. "Come, let's go ask him together."

Her free hand slid across the now familiar solid, cold rock wall for guidance through the dark. Their footsteps seemed to echo around them as they walked further down the passage. She felt Orane's sweaty hand dampen hers causing her own nerves to act up. While she trusted Erik, his recent patience at being asked "silly questions" as he called them was always difficult to determine his response, either indifference or small rage from being disturbed from his thoughts.

She only prayed that this time it would be the former reaction as she tightened her grip, ever so slightly, on Orane's hand; as though she was looking out for his safety. A lose knot of confused emotions swelled in her stomach. Was it possible to care about another child like a protective mother even after only knowing him a few days? They walked for a few moments in silence, until they saw a light of torch fire bouncing off the walls and heard the sound of metal rubbing against more metal in ahead if them.

"What is your question?"Erik's deep voice echoed off the close walls of stone.

Christine sucked in a deep surprise breath. He always seemed to recognize her approach, while his was mostly sudden and silent as though he truly was a spirit of another world.

She took a deep breath. "W…I just wanted to know how much further we have to travel until we reach Spain? I cannot even remember what day it is or how many days it has been in this place." She shuddered as the words left her mouth, a sudden need to leave washing over her as she took a step closer. "How much longer?"

Erik glanced back at her, the flickering torchlight enhancing the blue of his eyes. An eerie sense of familiarity hit her as she stared at him.

"I imagine we have only a few hours from now before we come out the other side, and we have been traveling for three or four days since we entered."

Christine nodded, feeling Orane relax beside her. She replayed Erik's answer in her mind. Only a few hours left in the darkness, she could endure that. Sensing his gaze upon her, she lowered her eyes, now grateful for the darkness consoling her flushed face.

"Was there something else?"

She shook her head. "Oh…no nothing, it's just…" She glanced up at him. "Why…are you always so distant? I mean you've become even more so in this place."

There was a moment of silence before he responded. "I am trying to think of our next move once we are out of here and reach Spain."

Orane spoke up. "You don't have a plan?"

Erik glanced over at him and then back to her. "I do, but the finer details are not fixed yet."

Christine's eyebrows knitted together as she looked at him. Something in his voice seemed strange as though he was hiding something. Was he upset at having the question raised? Was it fear of moving to a new place? She vaguely remembered a man who had never to her knowledge left the Opera House; in truth she barely had left it except on occasional outings. Yet, he had been able to find her and was now leading their journey to a distant country. What was he afraid of? She felt those very questions on her lips, but found she could not voice them without fear of being reprimanded. She watched him shift the silver on his shoulder while gritting his teeth.

Concern ran through her as she took a small step forward. "Are you all right?"

Erik's gaze softened as she rested her hand against his arm. For a moment, she felt him relax beneath her touch. He seemed almost at ease with her while her own heart skipped a beat as she gazed at him. Everything felt calm just as it did whenever he was near, though she could not really explain the unexpected change. In the back of her mind, she remembered the rush of water around her legs, her gown weighted down while her heart pounded with compassion for someone. Gradually, she leaned in closer, faltering only for moment, before he recoiled from her touch, and broke the moment.

Pulling his arm away, he said, "I'm fine."

Confusion clouded her mind as she continued to stare at him. What had she done to offend him? Pushing those thoughts away, she asked, "Are you sure, your shoulder-"

"Is fine as I said."

"Maybe we should leave the silver here."

Erik turned back to her."What? This is the only thing of value we have."

"Most will think we stole it like-"

"Like some common gypsy?" His gaze shifted over to Orane. The boy did not back down. "I'm not the one who stole it."

"It was a gift you little-"

"Erik, stop." Once more, her hand rested on his arm as she stepped in front of the child. "It might have been a gift, but I doubt people will stop and ask questions before you are carried away to jail or something worse. Please consider it at least."

Erik turned back to her, his intense gaze bearing into her. From the fire's glow, she saw a flicker of something in his eyes before he shook his head. "And how would you suggest we support ourselves?"

Christine sighed and lowered her eyes. "I…don't know."

He turned away from her for the second time. After a moment, she glanced up and watched him head further down the passage, only the clinking of the silver breaking the silence. An icy shiver ran down her spine as the darkness surrounded her again. Why had she ruined the moment? She knew that money was an issue, but she could not handle it if something happened to him. What would happen to her or even Orane if he was taken away on false charges of thievery? Whatever evil crimes he had committed in the past did not take away the fact that he had saved her at great cost to himself.

_What were his crimes? _

"Is something wrong?" Orane asked from beside her.

Christine looked down in his direction. "No…nothing. Come, we have to hurry."

With each step, she felt the darkness begin to close in on her again. Only a few more hours, it will all be over in a few hours. She kept repeating the phrase inside her head, calming her nerves as she took Orane's hand and followed Erik further down the passage.

**XxX**

Erik winced again as he shifted the sack into a more comfortable position, his shoulder aching from the extra weight of the silver, over the last three hours. He paused, the exchange between himself and Christine running through his mind. She had been so close, sincere concern had shown in her eyes as she asked after his welfare. In that moment, he had seen _his_ Christine shining through her usually dull gaze. How he had longed to take her in his arms and hold her. He had felt the past and envisioned the future they could have shared. How he wanted to….no, he could not let his guard down again.

He shook his head; that past and future had been taken from them by a force even stronger than himself. Erik sighed and pushed forward through the darkness of the mountains. He listened as her voice floated through the passage while she talked to the boy. It amazed him how much she had come to care for the child after such a brief time of knowing him, despite his attempts thievery. He walked in silence until he saw a glimmer of natural light ahead, the light of freedom.

He glanced over his shoulder and called back. "We're there, come on."

Hurried footsteps rush over to him and paused beside him. He could almost feel Christine's relief as they all stared at the entrance to the foreign country. Erik's breath caught in his throat, there was truly no going back now. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Christine moving forward as though she would run to the light. He dropped the sliver and reached and rested his hand on her shoulder. Her wide brown eyes pleaded for him to allow her to go into the light. Inwardly, his heart tightened, but he could not let her go until he knew all was safe. He stared into her eyes and signaled for silence.

Christine nodded as he handed her the torch and moved past her, heading to the entrance. He blinked rapidly, the bright light of the sun blinding him for a moment. The sound of the breeze flew past him as he drew closer. Keeping to the shadows, he leaned out and surveyed the land outside. He waved his arm for them to come forward, but paused as he felt metal contact with his skull.

"¿quién va?"

**Dun! Dun! Well what did you think? Please review and let me know. :)** **More coming soon.**


	16. Lesson Number One

**Peeks out from behind a rock. Is anyone there? Well if anyone is still following this story, I am grateful. I am so, so, so sorry for the long delay. You know the drill of the things, life, school, and all that good stuff getting in the way of people writing. So I will be amazed and blessed if anyone is still following this tale. Thank you for all of the reviews, they mean the world to me. :) **

**Anyway, I own nothing, but the characters not found in any incarnation of the Phantom of the Opera story, they belong to the respected individuals. Without further adue here is the next chapter.**

Christine nodded as he handed her the torch and moved past her, heading to the entrance. He blinked rapidly, the bright light of the sun blinding him for a moment. The sound of the breeze flew past him as he drew closer. Keeping to the shadows, he leaned out and surveyed the land outside. He waved his arm for them to come forward, but paused as he felt metal contact with his skull.

"¿quién va?"

Christine felt the blood drain from her face while her heart quickened at the sight of Erik standing frozen at the mouth of the cavern. A strange sense of yearning to go his side washed over her, but fear kept her grounded. Soon another shorter figure stepped into the path of sunlight, speaking in a peculiar tongue while holding a gun at Erik's head. Her breath caught in her throat as the man's eyes swept the cave.

Pulling Orane closer to her side, she moved back, her hand running over the rough rock. Her heart jumped as she felt a small gap in the middle of the rock formation. Quickly, she stuffed the torch in between the two rocks, allowing the darkness to cover them. Though she could not understand the words, she heard the impatient and suspicious timbre in the man's voice.

Her breath caught in her throat as she heard Erik respond fluently in the same peculiar language. Erik's voice held a calm and collected air. Christine's ears strained as she caught snippets of their exchange. She felt Orane stiffen beside her as she wrapped her arm around his shoulders, pressing him to her while she listened.

A heavy stillness fell across the cave. Christine's breath slowed as she strained to hear, but her ears were only met with silence. The only relief she felt came from not hearing not a gunshot or a scuffle. She tightened her grip around Orane's shoulders and leaned forward, peering around the rock.

Her heart sank at the sight of the shorter man standing alone at the entrance. Her first instinct was to run back into the darkness, but something kept her feet from obeying her command. The torch felt cold and lifeless in her hand as she cursed herself for having extinguished the flames that would light their way. Shaking her head, she drew a quick breath, found Orane's hand, and made to bolt.

"It's all right, Christine. I am right here." Erik's voice seemed to echo through the thick silence, but his tone was soft.

Christine spun around, her hand flying to her chest, feeling her heart thump wildly against her hand. "You're all right?"

The question felt ridiculous even as it left her lips, but she had to hear his voice to be certain it was real. A moment later, she felt a warmed gloved hand brush against her arm and heard his footsteps on the rock as he moved closer to her. A shiver of fear, warmth and relief run down her spine at his sudden touch. She glanced over and stared in his direction, his tall frame blocking out the sunlight from the entrance.

Tightening his hold on her arm ever so gently, he repeated, "I am here, Christine."

"What is going on?" The question slipped out as she tried to peer past him, a new wave of uncertainty flowing into her heart. "Have….we arrived in Spain?"

"Oui, we have reached out destination."

"Who was that man?" Orane asked from beside her, a hint of suspicion lacing his voice. "What were you talking to him about?"

Erik released her arm, his attention on Orane. "The only thing you need to know is that I have secured passage for us." He glanced over his shoulder. "He has agreed to show us the way down from here."

She lowered her voice. "How can we trust him?"

"It appears we have little choice."

Christine swallowed hard as vague memories ran through her mind. Someone once asked her to put her trust in him and that he would protect her only to stab her in the back. She was told to trust the doctors and nurses to help her, but they had done terrible, inhuman things to her. Shaking those thoughts away, she vowed to herself that she would never blindly give her mind to anyone again. Yet, she knew that they needed a guide through this foreign country.

She stepped away from Erik. "Non, I am not going anywhere with him."

Even through the darkness, his gaze bore into her. "What do you propose we do then? Stay in these dark mountains forever?"

Christine frowned, unable to surprise of shudder at his words. Remaining this endless dark was a fate worse than death, a constant reminder of her captivity by the medicine. She debated her options on the safer route to take. After a moment, she, reluctantly, nodded.

Erik nodded. "Then come. We still have a lot of ground to cover today."

He reached out taking the silver from her, slinging the sack over his shoulder before he took her hand. Turning around, he called out to the stranger in the same strange tongue as before. The man responded in the same tongue, but his tone was gentler now, almost eager as he gestured to them with his arms. Once more, a sense of doubt crept over her as they moved forward. She felt Orane's hand in hers dampen as though he too was nervous. Yet, her mind kept screaming to move forward into the light and not to fall back into the darkness. They were so close.

Her eyes shut tight as she finally stepped outside of the cave, the bright sun blinding her for a moment. She blinked rapidly as her eyes adjusted to the sudden light, the cool late autumn breeze blowing gently against her face. She breathed the fresh air deep into her lungs, finally free from the stale atmosphere of the dark caverns. Opening her eyes, she scanned the landscape of the new country.

Patches of dark green and brown grass peek out around the rock slabs which fill the small mountainous meadow. Off in the distance, she saw the barren treetops of a small forest, the sun casting flicking shadows through the bare branches. She gulped, uncertain. How were they meant to get down and through the forest? The map in the book Erik had was most likely of France, it was useless now.

In the distance, she heard Erik and the man conversing, but took no further notice as Orane stumbled out into the light. Christine bit back a gasp as she looked at him. His face was pale and his hair was a mess of knots. Dried blood stained the rags around his feet.

"Orane, are you all right?"

He looked over at her and nodded.

Christine sighed. "What about your feet."

Orane's eyes hardened. "They are fine."

Christine took a step toward him. "Let me at least put some clean rags around your feet until we can find you some proper shoes."

Oran scoffed in disbelief. "No, they are fine and I don't need your pity."

"It's not pity." Christine tore off part of the hem of her gown, which had been torn during their travels, and held it out for him.

Orane looked down at the cloth for a moment before he held out his hand. She let the fabric fall from her hand to his. He turned from her, mumbling a merci, and began to unwrap the stained rags from his feet without another word. Christine watched him silently, his reassurance that he was fine running through her mind. As a child, even when she was starving and cold, she would tell her father the same in order to ease his worry as they traveled from fair to fair. . A tear rolled down her face, but she brushed it away. Now was not the time to dwell on old memories.

She turned back at Erik. "Where are we going?"

He looked at her. "We are figuring that out, my dear. First let me introduce you to Arturo. He has agreed to be our guide and will point us in the direction we wish to travel once we leave this place."

Christine nodded and looked over at the man, Arturo. He was a short man with messy jet black hair and dark blue eyes. His skin was tanned, perhaps from spending hours in the sun, perhaps patrolling the cave's entrance; his brown pants and white shirt serving as a uniform, with his gun now pocketed in a rope which acted as a belt.

He stared at her for a moment and bowed his head. "Tenga buen dia. Senorita."

Christine blinked. "What did you say?"

Arturo repeated the phrase, his eyes narrowing.

"I'm sorry Monsieur I do not understand."

She wanted to say more, but Erik put his hand on her shoulder. He said something in Arturo's language. Arturo looked at her a moment longer and nodded with a small smile, before he looked back at Erik and replied. Christine wished she knew what they said, obviously about her.

Arturo turned and began to head down the slope toward the small valley.

She stared after him then glanced at Erik. "What did you say?"

"I merely translated what you said to him. He does not understand French. Now come we must follow."

He moved to Orane and looked down at him just as the boy finished tying a knot from the new cloth around his feet. "Get up."

Orane looked up at him. "And how did you learn how to speak with him?" Suspicion lingered in his voice

Erik pulled the boy up by the arm and withdrew a rope from his pocket. "The language that we were speaking is Spanish, and enough with these tiresome questions." He made to pull Orane's wrists together, but Christine took a step toward them. The scars on her wrists seemed to sting at even the sight of the rope that would limit the child's freedom, as the chains had denied hers Surely he could see the marks on Orane's wrists as well? They might never heal if he was bound again.

"Is that necessary? He has stayed with us without… being bound by the rope." She paused and glanced over in Arturo's direction. "Besides, you said we must move quickly, that will only take more time."

Erik glanced at her and paused. His eyebrows creased in thought before he nodded to himself and put the rope back in his pocket. Despite the weak excuse, he cannot seem to refuse even her smallest request.

He turned to Orane. "I have exceptional hearing so I would not try anything funny with your freedom, do you understand?"

Orane said nothing, but gave a brief nod. Erik stepped back from him and picked up the bag of silver, shifting it into a better position. He gritted his teeth as the silver banged against his shoulder.

Christine grimaced in sympathy. "Is there a place we can tend to your shoulder? Could he lead us to one?"

"I shall ask, but now we must go." Without another word, he took her hand and began to follow Arturo down the slope.

Christine craned her neck and bit back a gasp. Arturo was so far ahead, that she could only see his black hair further down the mountainside. Unconsciously, her hand tightened around his as doubt began to run through her mind. Timidly, she asked, "Are you certain…that it is safe. I mean how did you get him to agree to guide us?"

His back drew up straighter, tense, but he did not pause or turn. "Do not worry, my dear. We struck an agreeable bargain for him to take us where we need to go."

Christine paused even as the next question burned on the tip her tongue. Would he be annoyed at yet another silly question? Would he see her lack of trust as disobedience? Through he had never hurt her during their trip so far, she felt the shiver of fear run down her spine.

She swallowed hard and pushed on with her next question. "And where is that? I mean Spain is such a big place."

"We will be heading east." He called out to Arturo again and he came running back over to them, a questionable look in his eyes. Erik cleared his throat and gestured to her. "Senorita, quisiera saber cuánto tiempo más?"

Arturo nodded and spoke to her. "Senorita, unas pocas horas."

Christine gulped and looked over at Erik. Did he except her to answer Arturo? She bit her lip, trying to think of something to say to him. Her only languages were French and Swedish. How was she meant to answer?

She felt Erik squeeze her hand before he nodded to Arturo. "Gracias, Se_ñ_or."

She stared at Erik tilting his head in Arturo's direction. Christine nodded to herself and turned back to their guide. "Oui, gracias, Se_ñ_or."

Arturo nodded, smiling before he turned and headed back down the slope again. Christine watched him leave, before she turned to Erik, confusion clouding her mind as she stared at him.

A small smile twitched at the corner of his lips. "Well done on your first lesson in Spanish, my dear, my dear, and he said it would take a few days to get to our destination."

Her heart fluttered with relief and honor at hearing his praise of her first lesson. Lesson, the word rolled over in her mind, it seemed so familiar….almost right. She blushed. "What exactly did I say to him?"

"You used the Spanish words for merci monsieur."

Christine nodded to herself. "Ah….and I know Orane asked, but how did you come to know Spanish?"

Erik stiffened, but his gaze never left hers. "Well when you live by yourself for a few decades, you learn to _entertain_ yourself." A note of bitterness and dry humor laced his voice.

Christine wanted to question him further, but something stopped her. Somehow she gathered that questioning him would only get him more frustrated and irritated than agreeable to answering. He always was a mystery. She vaguely recalled questioning someone, whom she trusted above everyone, whether or not they were real.

The response had been, "I am real, but not in your sense of the word. If I were not real how could your father have sent me to teach you, child? For something to be real for people it must be something physical. An object they can touch, but there is another reality one that lives by faith even in something you can't see."

It had only been after years that she had been given proof of his humanity. She remembered that. Yet, she could not see him clearly in her mind. A gentle tug on her hand brought her out of her thoughts as Erik continued to lead her down the path.

"Will you teach me more Spanish? If…we are to live here than it would be helpful if I knew the language as well, don't you think?"

Erik shifted, but did not turn to look at her. "I suppose so, but let us do it later….in the evenings when we have stopped to rest from traveling, oui?"

Christine nodded. "That would be….wonderful."

She glanced over her shoulder as Orane came to a stop behind her. A half-hearted smile formed on her face as she stared at him. Perhaps if he followed the rules, she would teach him, so that he could understand the language as well. There was nothing worse than not knowing what was going on around oneself.

She recalled the nurses and doctors using words that she had not understood in her presence. Christine shook her head, shoving the painful memories away, and continued to follow Erik and their guide.

XxX

Erik stared into the fire, unseeing. The stillness of the evening hung around him, but his thoughts were in chaos. His fingers curled into fists as the memories of his youth kept circling in his mind. It had been through his captors that he first learned the Spanish tongue.

Yet, he could not ignore the small amount of enthusiasm he felt at the prospect of getting to teach Christine once more, as himself, and not under any guise of an Angel of Music sent by her father. Perhaps these lessons would help her to remember him and her old self, the one who relished in learning new things. He listened silently to the even breathing of Arturo and the child slumbering on either side of the fire.

Christine's soft voice called out to him. "Are we ready?"

He turned and saw her walking toward him, her features standing out in the fire's glow. Her dark knotted curls framed her pale face perfectly. Slowly, his eyes took in her full appearance as she sat herself near him, his heart sinking. Her body was still too thin from all she had suffered while her gown had begun to resemble urchin rags from the days of travel and her continued ripping of the cloth to ensure the wellbeing of the child. In that kindness he saw his Christine shining through.

Her eyebrows furrowed. "Is something wrong?"

Erik blinked and cleared his throat upon realizing he had been silent for too long. "Non, everything is fine. I was thinking of what to teach you first."

Christine nodded, folding her hands onto her lap as she waited for instruction.

Erik felt his heart beat faster. She was only a foot or so away from him with no barrier between them as there had been in the past. It would be so easy to just reach out and touch her, to feel her soft skin beneath his fingers as he held onto her, never letting her go again.

_No, concentrate you fool_, he scolded himself as he turned his thoughts to teaching her first real lesson in Spanish. His first words of the language he had understood were not meant for her precious, virgin ears nor were any of the other words he had learned while locked in the cage. He had known no kind words from anyone until the young ballerina had rescued him. After a moment, he settled on the words he would teach her.

He cleared his throat. "Are you ready, Christine?" She nodded and he went on. "Very well, now this is a simple way of greeting someone. Listen carefully now. Buenos días, Señor." He repeated the phrase, separating each word to help with her accuracy. "It means 'Good morning, monsieur' in Spanish. Do you understand?"

Christine nodded and took a deep breath. She spoke each word perfectly, but her delivery was halting as her mouth tried out each word without the flow which was desirable. Still, he was impressed, she was a quick leaner. He felt the corners of his mouth fighting to turn up in a small, approving smile, but he shook the notion away. He had never praised her for a half attempt and he was not going to start now.

"Was… that correct?" Christine stared at him, a flicker of fear in her deep brown eyes.

Erik stared at her. Was she expecting to be punished for her even the smallest mistake? Even when he had taught her as a child, his reprimands for her mistakes were small and never physical. Once more, he cursed the hospital for changing her from her fiery self. He shook his head, pushing those thoughts away. It was time to focus on the lesson.

He lowered his voice to ease her fear. "No, you got the words, but now try and string them together to make your speech more fluid."

She nodded and repeated the words with less hesitation.

"Oui, better. One more time and with more confidence…." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "As though you are acting a part."

She stared at him, confused. "This is not a theater."

"I know, but it may help you to understand how to pronounce the words in the proper way."

She bit her lip for a moment. "All right." She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, not opening them until she finished. "Was that correct?"

"Oui, or si my dear. Now let us get some sleep."

"But I only learned one sentence. Can I not learn more right now?" A boldness laced her words as he stared at him, her dark eyes dancing with excitement of learning something new and useful.

Erik could not help the small smile on his face. "Very well, one more, but then to bed. It is a long journey tomorrow."

She nodded. "Oui, of course."

Erik paused for a moment and then nodded to himself. "This is the formal way to ask how someone is doing. ¿Cómo está.Now remember to lace your words together in order for the phrase to flow more naturally."

Christine gave a hesitant smile before she repeated the phrase back to him. This time, the words flowed together with more ease, even as her mouth formed around each new syllable. He allowed himself a small smile toward her, if only to keep from discouraging her. "That was better." He stared at her. "Good night, my dear."

"Good night and merci for the lesson." She turned to go, but paused and glanced back at him. "Will we continue tomorrow?"

"If you wish it. Now get to bed."

Christine nodded, a tiny smile of excitement on her face. "Good night."

Erik listened as she returned to her spot a little ways off. Despite him enjoying the freedom of being himself for their lessons, his heart ached at missing her add her affectionate title of Angel at the end of the question. Even after he had learned of his humanity, she continued to call him her Angel of Music as he called her. He sadly recalled that she had renounced the story of the Angel of Music that day in the chapel.

Still he could not rid his mind of her excited face as he stared into the fire. He had seen a similar excitement when they had finished her singing lessons for the evening. Though the Spanish lesson had been short, he now knew for certain that_ his_ Christine was still alive and he could bring her back from the broken shell than she had become.

**Well I hope it was worth the long wait. Again if anyone is still following the story please let me know what you think and I have a surprise which will happen extremely soon. So, please let me know what you think.**


	17. Chapter 17

**Well how about that for a Surprise. Two chapters given in one night. It is an apology for no chapter for about a year or so. Again I cannot apology enough for that. So I hope this makes up for that at least a little.** **I must sincerely send a thank you to my BETAer for this chapter as it caused more problems for her than normal on my account. So I bless her heart for the work she did. :) **

**Once again, I own nothing related to the Phantom of the Opera except the characters that I created for this phanphic. So, for all those reviewers and others who are following this story, here is another new chapter for you. :)**

With a frown, Raoul stared up at the large, imposing fortress. It had taken him three days, having taken a longer route to avoid the chaos in Paris. Yet, even the chaos in the city did not bother him compared to what he had to deal with now. He glanced over to the south, his theory of the Phantom's destination circling his mind, but first he had to get some answers. The letter his father received, and he had retrieved from the waste bin, seemed to burn in his pocket, the words forever etched in his mind.

Though he knew the answer, the same question kept coming to him. How could they lose Christine? The great walls and the high security of the guards walking around the grounds made the place a formidable fortress for any normal man to try and enter.

His hands tightened on the reins as he reminded himself that the phantom was no ordinary man. He recalled Madame Giry's words of the Opera Ghost's skills of deceit and sorcerer. She had forgotten that the man was a thief as well and now the phantom had stolen his beloved Christine again. An image of her wild and confused face swam into his mind as he recalled the nightmares she had endured from the monster, who still clung to her even after they had fled the catacombs of the Opera House.

He drew his jacket more tightly around himself as he was reminded of what Christine once told him of the phantom that night after the stagehand had been murdered. _His eyes will find us there; those eyes that burn_…._I can't escape from him._

It seemed she had been correct to an extent; his attempts to hide her had been futile. Yet, now it was her large haunted eyes which burned in his mind.

_That devil has no idea how much he has hurt her already_. Shaking his head, Raoul dismounted from his horse, handing the reins to one of the guards, and headed into the small courtyard.

An eerie stillness hung in the air as he looked about; the barren trees, dried grass, and the gray stone of the asylum cast a cold sensation around him. It was like graveyard. Inwardly, he chuckled at the absurd notion; the death of winter was simply coming faster than usual. He turned, noting the extra security at the gate and the doors, but it only fueled his irritation, his fists clenched. How could they allow the Phantom to sweep in and steal his Christine? Taking a deep breath, he moved on and went inside.

The same eeriness filled the long corridors as he headed down to the main office. Fragments of sunlight shone through the windows to light his way. Only a few nurses and doctors hurried down the hallways, speaking in hushed whispers as they passed him, only acknowledging him with a glance.

The doctors hid their emotions, but fear was evident on the few nurses who traveled in small packs just as he had seen the ballerinas do at the Opera House. _So, the Phantom continues to spread his terror even now_.

He paused before he entered the main office and told one of the men he wished to speak to Mousier Laurent. The guard nodded and knocked on the office door before he turned and gestured for Raoul to enter. Raoul did so and looked around the office; the same green walls with a fire in the hearth met his gaze. It seemed so strange to think it had only been approximately four months since he had delivered Christine there in the hope that the doctors could help rid her of her demons.

He had never imagined that same demon, that plagued her mind, would come and sweep her away again. Raoul shook his head, fighting to keep his temper under control, and turned his attention back to the task at hand. Forcing himself to unclench his fists, he took another step forward.

"Monsieur Laurent, I wish to speak to you now."

The older man looked up from the stack of documents. "Oh Monsieur Vicomte, I was not expecting you."

Raoul pulled the letter from his pocket. "What is the meaning of this, Monsieur? How could you let my fiancée be taken by a madman?"

"My good sir, we never thought something like this could happen. The man slipped in unseen almost like…."

"_A ghost_." Raoul's voice dripped with humorless laughter.

"Oui, exactly. We had no idea until someone sounded the alarm the next morning. One of the nurses had been found unconscious and one the guards posted out front was found dead. One of the doctors said it appeared as though he had been strangled. I gather it happened too quickly for him to even scream for help."

_Ah the Phantom's famous noose_. Raoul stiffened ever so slightly at the memories. He recalled the lasso around his own neck when he had been pinned to the old gate by the devil himself, watching helplessly as the Phantom forced Christine to choose marriage or to let the Phantom kill him. An image of Christine kissing the demon flashed through his mind, and he suppressed a shudder of disgust. That kiss must have sealed his power over her fragile mind.

He shook those thoughts away. "Where is the nurse who was found?"

Monsieur Laurent sighed. "She was given leave after the event. Poor girl she just kept speaking about a tall figure, who kept to the shadows only to turn into the devil himself before he knocked her out. I thought it best if she returned home where her parents could tend to her."

"How did no one see any of this?"

"Monsieur Vicomte, please understand we do not have great wealth and so we are understaffed at certain times of the day."

Raoul curled his hands in fists, but forced them to remain at his side. "I don't want to hear excuses, Monsieur. I put my trust in you to take care of my fiancée. Surely there were others around. My father told me the place was well staffed at all hours of the day. What happened? Where was she exactly?"

Monsieur Laurent paused, running his hand through his graying hair. "Please understand, it takes time and sometimes certain measures to bring someone back to good health."

"What kind of measures?"

"According to the nurses, your fiancée seemed to be getting better, but then she started to relapse back into her talk of demons and angels. She even broke the rules and went out after curfew and had to be taken out of the dormitory to a more private area where she could be tended to personally and not be affected by the other patients. Your father did approve the arrangement."

Raoul stared at him before his gaze shifted to the note, which still lay on the table. He recalled the conversation he had heard between his father and uncle before the letter had come. They had spoken about Christine and the hospital as though each were insignificant and seemed further undisturbed when the letter came.

His father had promised to send men in to investigate, but Monsieur Laurent had been genuinely surprised to see him and shocked when he asked after Christine. As the realization dawned on him, he felt his heart race with uncertainty. If he had lied about sending men to look after the issue, what other things had his father done or approved of with regard to Christine without informing him? It had been no secret, his parents had not been the most thrilled when he brought Christine home as his fiancée, but his father would never put someone in harm's way.

Yet, surely the treatment that Monsieur Laurent had described was of superior quality in the world of medicine and could cure Christine of her delusions. Still, something nagged at him as he stared down at the letter. Picking it up, Raoul folded it and tucked it back into his pocket. "Is there anyone that was here that evening that I may speak with?"

The man shook his head, pushing his chair back and walked over to a cabinet. "Everyone is working, Monsieur. As I said we have had to increase the amount of workers to prevent something like this from happening and in order to take better care of our patients. I have already called the police to investigate."

Raoul took a deep breath. "The police…that is interesting considering the war going on Paris."

The man let out a half hearted chuckle. "Oh of course…but then we are not informed very much on the latest news I am afraid."

The man let out a halfhearted chuckle. "Oh, of course…but then we are not informed very much on the latest news I am afraid."

Raoul's fists curled, but still he kept his composure. "I see and I understand, but it would only take five minutes of their time."

Monsieur Laurent continued to shuffle through the cabinet. "I am certain you understand that some of these people must have constant attention or they may try and harm themselves, the other patients or even some of the staff members…"

Raoul gritted his teeth for a moment, irritated. _The longer I stay here, the further the devil takes her away_. He stared at the older man. "I'm _certain_ you understand that it is my fiancée I am most concerned about. Surely there must be others who were here that night and I wish to speak to them straightaway." He paused, the words from the letter and his earlier theory of his father running through his mind once more. "My father does not know I am here. This will just be between us, Monsieur."

Laurent turned away from the cabinet, a fresh stack of papers in his hands. "I see, Monsieur Vicomte. I shall see if any of them can come here now. It is best if you remain here so that the other staff members and patients are not disturbed, you understand of course."

He gave a stiff nod. "Oui, but do it quickly. I do not have all day to wait."

Monsieur Laurent nodded as he moved over to the door and called out to one of his men, demanding to see all nurses who were there that evening.

XxX

Jeana closed the door silently to the upper dormitory, where a few patients had been sent to calm them down. She stifled a yawn as she returned to the day room with the others. Since she had returned, she had barely had a decent break. The entire staff was under new orders that each staff member work almost around the clock, checking in on patients more regularly and reporting any unusual activity. She chuckled to herself. _The whole place is filled with unusual activity by the patients_.

The low voices of the other staff members broke her out of her thoughts. She turned and walked back into the day room where four nurses stood huddled in one of the corners. Their faces were lit with an excitement she had never seen in all her time working in the asylum.

Tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear, she walked over to the other nurses. "Did you really see him, Halette?"

"Was he as handsome as some say?"

"Oui, he was the most handsome man I have seen."

Jeana tapped one the younger nurses on the shoulder. "What's going on? Who's here?"

The younger nurse giggled. "It is so exciting. The Vicomte de'Changy is here. Halette was able to speak him personally."

Jeana blinked, confused. Whatever could such a fine man come here for? Still, something nagged at her as the man's title rolled around in her mind.

She turned to Halette. "What did he want?"

Halette looked over at her. "He was looking for information on the girl who was taken away by that creature, but…." She paused and gulped as though loath to admit her next words. "He didn't find me helpful as I wasn't there that night."

The other nurses nodded in agreement before they turned and went back to their separate corners to keep their eyes on the patients. Yet, Jeana barely acknowledged the activity as she recalled Sister Norah's request that she speak to the Vicomte, claiming that she had information on the girl and the creature. According to her, the creature and his demon mistress had been the ones who had allowed the sacred house of the Lord to crumble under the fire, which had left both the Father and Sister Norah to be living with her family at this moment.

"Halette, when did you see the Vicomte?"

Halette ran her hands down her uniform, trying to get the wrinkles from the fabric out. "I guess a half an hour or so ago."

"Do you think he will still be here?"

She shrugged. "I suppose so."

"Is he with Monsieur Laurent?"

"Oui, but why…where are you going?"

Yet, Jeana did not answer as she turned and ran out of the day room and down the silent corridors. Once more, she heard Sister Norah's request running through her mind. Surely, the Vicomte would want to know what happened to the girl. Yet, when she made it to the door, she found herself hesitating.

"Oui?"

Jeana took a deep breath and called through the door. "Monsieur, may I come in?"

"If it is about one of the patients, it will have-"

"It is about the girl…the one who was taken."

There was a pause. Jeana held her breath as she waited. What would happen if he turned her away? After all, she had not been on duty that night and had no real proof to back up the claim. Yet, Sister Norah was not one to tell foolish tales and it was too much of a coincidence to mean nothing.

"Come in."

Quietly, she opened the door and entered the office. Her eyes fell upon Monsieur Laurent who sat behind his desk, his elbows resting upon the table with his head turned to the right, watching his guest. Jeana's gaze shifted and settled on the young Vicomte deChangy. Even dressed in mere peasant clothes, he held himself up as any nobleman would. His face was the image of perfection.

Yet, she could see the exhaustion in his eyes as he expectantly glanced her way. She felt her feet freeze on the spot as he stared at her as though he could see straight through her. It was only Monsieur Laurent's impatient and tired voice that brought her back to her purpose for being there.

Heat rushed to her face as she gave a small curtsey. "Forgive the intrusion, but I may have some news on what happened to the young woman."

The Vicomte's eyes grew wide. "Are you certain, Mademoiselle?"

She nodded. "Oui, Monsieur, though I admit I was not here that evening. I know-"

"If you were not here that night, get out. We do not have time for your foolishness." Her boss pointed a hand to the door, dismissing her.

"No, no, Monsieur please…" She turned, desperately toward the nobleman. "The man who took her had a demon face, but with the voice of an angel, able to enchant anyone who heard it."

The Vicomte took a step forward, his eyes suddenly sharp and lit with interest. "How do you know that?" He turned to Monsieur Laurent. "Would you be so kind as to give us a moment of privacy?"

Monsieur Laurent stood and looked between them before he nodded. "Of course, I will just be outside."

Jeana's heart skipped a beat as she watched her boss slip out of his office, pausing only to give her a hard look, as though trying to warn her about something. Then he turned away and left the room as if he were just one of the staff as well. She listened as the door shut with a firm thud.

A shiver ran down her spine as she glanced over at the Vicomte, Monsieur Laurent's look replaying in her mind. It was no secret that noblemen had a reputation of taking innocence away from young women, but surely he would not touch her. After all, it was his fiancé he had come looking for. She took a deep breath and glanced back over at him, but he only stared at her with the same expectant expression. She gulped, her mouth suddenly dry, his steely gaze seeming to bore into her.

"So…how did you know about this if you were not here that evening?"

She found her voice. "I know….someone who….saw them. She's staying with us and told me to tell you about it….she thought you should know."

"You are certain?"

"Oui, Monsieur, she is a nun and she would not lie about something so serious. The monster burned down our church."

The Vicomte chuckled darkly. "The demon's trade mark."

Jeana's eyebrows rose. "Excuse me?"

He shook his head. "Nothing. I just…..how can I be completely certain you speak the truth?"

"And why would I have any reason to lie to you, Monsieur?" The words left her lips before she could stop them. She slapped her hand over her mouth and dipped down into a curtsy. "Oh, excuse me, I spoke when I shouldn't have."

The Vicomte waved his hand dismissively. "Do not worry about it. It is actually refreshing to get some straight answers."

Jeana blinked. What was he talking about? She had just spoken out of turn and with such an accusing tone. How could he just brush it off like that?

He leaned back against the desk. "So, can you tell me where I can find this nun?"

"Norah." The answer was met with a soft smile.

"Oui, of course, merci. So, can you tell me where I might find Sister Norah?"

Jeana nodded, a shy smile playing at her lips. "Oui, she lives with my family now. They live in a small town not far from here."

A light of flickered through his intense blue eyes. "Would it be all right if we went now? I don't mean to be rude, but it is most important I find Mademoiselle Daae before she comes to harm."

Jeana shifted her weight from foot to foot though her eyes remained locked on him. She wanted to agree and take him there straightaway. Yet, her job had to come first if she expected to help her family survive the upcoming winter.

When she voiced those concerns, the Vicomte nodded. "I understand, family is very important to me as well. That is why I must find my fiancée at all costs." He stared back at her, his gaze locking with hers. "If your information turns out to be true then I can see to it that you are rewarded with a small fee."

Her cheeks flushed. A small fee from an aristocrat would surely be a handsome sum for her and her family and even their small community. After a moment, she nodded. "All right….but I will have to ask Monsieur Laurent. He-"

"I will speak with him." The Vicomte gestured for to leave. "I shall see you outside in about ten minutes."

Jeana nodded and curtsied. "Oui, Monsieur."

With one last glance at him, she turned and left the room, her heart suddenly light as she practically skipped down the empty corridor.

**Well there you have it, two chapters in one night. I hope you enjoyed them both and do not be mad at me. New chapters will be coming much sooner. Please let me know what you think of this (these) new installments to the story. I hope you enjoyed them. :)**


	18. Waves Try to Meassure

**Wow, it has been a while. Past a year. I am so, so, SO, sorry for that. Life and trying to work on my own orignal novel has gotten in the way. I beg your pardon for that. Again, I own nothing, except the characters I create such as Orane, Jeana, and so forth. My BETAer went over this chapter, but now I am not able to get into the currected document for a last mintue check. So any mistakes that are left are mine. The characters belong to their respected owners. I hope this delay has not stopped you from coming to this story. I hope you enjoy. **

Raoul sighed, pulling an exhausted horse to a halt, and surveyed the landscape. Twilight cast its light over the forest, dried leaves scattered, floor. Barren trees lined both sides of the makeshift path he and the young nurse, Jeana, had been traveling for the past few hours. It had taken longer than anticipated to leave the hospital. He had taken the time to write a letter to his father explaining his whereabouts in the event something happened. He had instructed Monsieur Laurent to send the note at first light tomorrow. When they left the hospital grounds, he had offered the animal for the girl to ride. She had blushed, claiming she knew the way only by her feeling the earth beneath her feet. Raoul had simply nodded and followed the young guide.

Part of him knew it was foolish to wonder off with a strange woman alone into a forest. Yet, she had no reason to lie to him and everything to gain with the reward he had promised. The notion of finding some useful information on Christine, and the monster who had stolen her, was too important for him not to take the risk. Though his limbs were becoming sore the longer they traveled.

Returning his attention to the task at hand, Raoul called, "Are we close?"

"There." The nurse paused and pointed toward a clearing. "That used to be our church before the monster came and destroyed it."

Raoul leaned forward and squinted. The fading light made it difficult to see the remains of the church. In all his travels, he had come to know that even in the country, the holy houses of the Lord, were the most well-kept structures with their own simple and unique beauty. Now the church stood like the ruins spoken of in Rome or Greece. Small piles of stones littered the lawn surrounding the two or three crumbling walls which were straining to remain upright.

Raoul frowned. _What magic has the phantom used to burn down a sacred house of the Lord?_

As though reading his mind, Jeana said, "It was a fire…it consumed most of the building and took a day to put the fire out so Papa says."

Raoul glanced over at her, offering a sympatric smile.

"We were most thankful it did not spread." Her hands moved in a quick flurry of movement as she bowed her head.

He adjusted the reins in his hands. "So, how much further, Mademoiselle?"

The girl turned, pointing to the west. "We are almost there, Monsieur. We used to be able to see the church from one of our windows."

Raoul nodded and gently kicked his heels into the animal's flanks, to prod it into a walk. Darkness had fallen completely by the time they reached the cabin. Only the sound of muffled voices and the smell of smoke from a hearth gave any hint of life. Jeana signaled for him to remain concealed in the dark until she had spoken to her mother, fearing the sight of a nobleman would cause her heart to fail. Raoul had begun to protest, but she had already turned, hurrying toward cabin.

The door swung open before the girl had even knocked. Bright orange and yellow light poured out into the yard before a shadow passed over it. A small cry escaped the girl's lips as though she was being wrapped in a huge embrace by someone.

"Jeana, what are you doing here? You just left us two days ago. Has something happened?" a wary, but practical, female voice asked.

"Non, Maman, I was…we have a guest." He heard a smile in Jeana's voice.

"Oh?"

Raoul moved into the path of light. "Madame, pardon the late intrusion, but your daughter said you might be able to help me. I am looking for my….friend's fiancée who may have come here."

The woman's mouth hung ajar as the two took each other in. After a moment, she regained herself and nodded. "Oui, oui, of course we will help in any way we can, Monsieur." She dipped into a crude curtsey. "My name is Mary and my husband is Jordon."

"Mary? Who's there?" a male voice called.

"It's Jeana and…" Her brow creased.

Raoul bowed his head. "Pardon me, Madame. I am Henry, Duc D'Amboise."

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of Jeana. Her eyes had widened, but she held her tongue and quickly averted her gaze. He knew it was wrong to deceive someone, but given the chaos in Paris of the last few months, it was impossible to determine how the peasantry felt toward his social class. Thus he had decided to air on the side of caution instead.

Mary took a step toward the door, waving her hands. "Oh…please come in come in. It's cold out here."

Once more, Raoul nodded. "Merci, Madame."

He followed his hosts inside.

At first glance, Raoul found himself marveling at the size of the enterer. The main room was the largest filled with a table, a few chairs, and all the everyday necessities for cooking and cleaning stacked on shelves. Off to the right and left were two smaller bedrooms. A black cattle was set above the cracking flames in the hearth; the scent of fresh soup filling the room.

He watched silently as the small family began to move about preparing for their meager supper.

"Excuse me, Madame, but your daughter said that a Sister would have some information on the man who stole the Vicomte de'Changy's fiancée."

"Oui, but why-?"

"The Vicomte was unable to come himself and sent me instead. The man who stole her has also crossed paths with me as well."

Mary nodded, stirring the soup. "Oui, Sister Norah?"

The sound of footsteps padded against the wooden floor before the door to the left room opened. A medium sized woman stepped into the room, donned in a black habit. Large, dark bags hung beneath her eyes, but still he felt her icy stare bearing into him.

"What is it?" The nun, Sister Norah, asked.

Jeana set the silverware down on the table. "Sister, this man would like very much to speak to you."

The sister crossed her arms. "Who is he?"

Raoul took a step forward. "Madame, I am the Doc of Amboise. I am here because I wish to ask you a few questions and I was told you would be able to help me."

"What did you want, Monsieur?"

"To speak to you, Madame, that is all. Jeana told me that you had information and even perhaps an encounter with a man who wears a white mask to cover his deformed face."

"That demon from the depths of the earth?"

Raoul nodded. "So you have met him?"

Sister Norah turned and walked back into one of smaller rooms while he followed.

The second room was sparser in its contents. Directly across from the door there stood a small washing table. A single bed was tucked in the corner with a trunk at the foot and a chair beside the bed. No other decorations lined the plain wooden walls. It resembled what he imagined a priest's quarters would be. Set on top of the bed, a jumble of slim blankets piled on top of each other.

Raoul titled his head to the side. The position of the blankets continued to offer the impression of a turtle's shell protecting the creature within the warmth the covers provided. Was someone else in the room as well?

The floor creaked as she turned back to him, stirring him from his thoughts.

Her voice lowered as though even the walls were the eyes of the devil. "Oui, Monsieur, I have met that spawn of Satan. I just don't know why you should be concerned with it. I was told the Vicomte de'Changy was the one whose fiancée was the one in trouble."

Raoul shut the door firmly behind him and turned to the nun. "Sister, may the Lord above and you forgive me for the deception, but I am the Vicomte de'Changy. In these tough times it is difficult to know who to trust."

The sister studied him, but remained silent. Her worn black habit hid any signal of her emotions, except her eyes. Her piercing blue eyes narrowed ever so slightly the longer she stared at him as though debating his words. After all the lies the Phantom had spun she had the right to be wary of new people.

"And how do I know you are telling the truth now, Monsieur?"

"I…" He paused and pulled out one of his handkerchiefs, embroidered with his initials one in the family's crest dark blue. "I have this."

Sister Norah squinted as she looked over the white cloth. After a moment, she turned and walked over the bed.

She stopped down and shook the figure wrapped in the blankets. "Father….Father someone is here to see you."

A low moan escaped the old priests' lips as he stirred. He rolled over on his back, staring up at the ceiling. "Who is it?"

Sister Norah took a step back. "It's the Vicomte de'Changy. He wanted to know about the…." She took a breath. "He wants to hear about the man and the women who stayed with us before the fire."

The old priest slowly brought himself up into a sitting position. "You wish to know what happened with the man and the lady?"

Raoul took a step forward. "Oui, Father."

The priest turned his head slightly in Raoul's direction. "My name is Garen and oui I did meet them. It was…oh about two or three weeks ago I believe."

For the next hour or so, Raoul listened as the priest wove a tale about how the man and his lady had come to him. He told of how the lady had begun to regain her strength though he did not know the cause of her pain. He even spoke of the designs for the church the man had offered to build in exchange for helping them before the fire broke out.

"I felt the flames growing around me, certain it was His will and my time, but then I woke up next to Sister Norah. But the man and the lady had vanished." He leaned back into the pillows, signaling the end of the tale.

"Did he tell you where he was planning to go, Father Garen?" Raoul pressed gently.

The old priest raised his head, his brow creased in deep thought as though searching for the answer.

Sister Norah leaned in. "Monsieur Vicomte, perhaps this can wait until later. The Father is still-"

"Spain that was the last place we spoke of. Perhaps he went there," Father Garen said softly.

"Spain?" Raoul frowned. "Where is Spain do you know?"

Father Garen shook his head.

Raoul's fists clenched, imagining himself shaking the Father by the shoulders and asking him for more information. He took a deep breath. Nothing would be gained from such thoughts. Even the small knowledge he had obtained and confirmed his own notions of the Phantom's direction to avoid the law. Now the question was simply a matter of how to follow the trail.

Quietly, he bid Sister Norah and Father Garen a good evening as Jeana knocked at the door carrying a tray of food.

Back out in the main room, he sat himself off in a corner as Mary brought him a bowl of hot soup.

"Did they help you, Monsieur?" Mary asked.

Raoul nodded, accepting the bowl. "Oui, and merci for your hospitality this evening. I shall be leaving by first light tomorrow."

Mary's eyebrows rose. "Oh, going back home?"

"Non, I have business I need to attend to in Spain."

Jordon shook his head. "Non, Monsieur Ambrose, it bad to go there now. Winter is just around the corner. You could get trapped in them mountains and no smart person travels now."

"My husband speaks truth." Her mother bowed slightly. "Pardon me, but it would be best for you to go back home till warmer weather comes."

Raoul turned, looking out the window to the dark evening. None of them knew the power the monster held. If he could not find Christine soon who knew what harm would come to her? Spring was few months away and in that time she could be lost to him forever, fully wrapped in the web of lies the dark creature told her.

He frowned. _Though I suppose that would suit Father and Uncle just as well._

His hand rose and rested against the letter still hidden in his jacket. If he returned home, his father and uncle would continue to push him toward other women who they felt were more proper. Yet, he knew there was no one like his Little Lottie. He would not rest until he found and saved her from the demon….being her knight in one of the tales she had so cherished. Tomorrow he would seek more information from the Father and then begin his journey to Spain.

The smell of soup and the warm banter of the family seemed to lull his wary bones as he leaned back in his chair. Closing his eyes, he whispered, "Soon, Christine. I will find you."

XxX

"Buenos días, Erik."

Erik turned, spotting Christine seated by a small fire. "And good day to you, Christine. A little more accent, but you are greatly improving, my dear."

He watched a smile grace her face at his praise while his own heart swelled with pride. Somehow it still struck him at how quickly she had come in the mere two weeks since he had begun teaching her the new language. At the rate she was learning he estimated she would at least be able to converse with someone soon, though he had no intention of being around many people. It was the reason he had instructed Arturo to follow forest paths rather than venture into the more populated towns they passed along the way. The promise of silver had kept the guide silent, following the unusual requests.

Still, Erik kept the sack with him at all times in case the temptation grew too strong. Their days had slowly formed into a pattern: rising before sunrise to pack up their small camp, walk until noon, have a small meal, then continue the journey until night had fallen, and then set up camp. It was only a few hours ago that he had declared that they had finally reached their destination and began to set up their campsite.

As his eyes roamed over the landscape, Erik sighed to himself and adjusted the sack. The campsite was in a secure place, surrounded by a dense forest, safe from prying eyes from townspeople or other travelers.

"Are you all right?" Christine's voice roused him from his thoughts.

Erik shifted the sack and walked over to her. "I am fine, Christine. Why do you ask?"

"You have been hanging onto that sack strangely." She stood up. "Is it your shoulder?" She gingerly reached out, laying her hand on his arm.

Erik exhaled slowly. "I have told you before I am just fine. Leave it be, my dear. I can take care of myself."

"But-"

"Leave it be!" Erik tore away from her touch and winced. The wound was indeed worsening, but his pride would never allow weakness to be shown. Still, his tone had been harsher than he had intended.

Christine opened her mouth and closed it, her eyes lowering to the ground. Her back hunched as though she were shrinking into herself; retreating into the cursed shell of the asylum 'patient'.

He grimaced. Above everything else, he could not stand to see Christine in any pain, especially when delivered from him.

He lowered himself, kneeling beside her. "I beg your pardon, Christine. I should have not lost my temper with you. You were only trying to help me as you always have."

She stared at him, her eyebrows raised.

That simple look nearly broke his heart. Since he had rescued her, it had been a puzzle in trying to figure out what the medications and the whole ordeal had done to her. Some parts of her memory appeared to be unharmed while others seemed to be best scattered fragments, alternated by the cruel, manipulative words and drugs given by the nurses and others.

Pushing those thoughts aside, he bowed his head to her. "Please accept my apologies."

He dared a glance up at her.

Christine slowly nodded. "Oui, it's fine, Erik. I shouldn't have…." She turned away, averting her gaze quickly.

She glanced around the campsite, dark woods surrounding them on all sides, as though searching for a safer topic of conversation. "So…um…where are we exactly?"

"It's a town called Gorina." He stood up, biting back a wince of pain, and held out his hand to her. "Come I wish to show you something I think you will like."

Her back straightened, a frown crossing her face as she looked up at him. "You know I don't like surprises."

Erik stared at her, a sense of mutuality sweeping through him. His own hatred for surprises had begun when he was only five years old. His mother had come into his bedroom, a rare event, saying she had a surprise for him. He could still picture her porcelain face, for the first time, smiling down at him. The loving gesture did not reach her eyes, but at five years old he had not noticed nor cared. His desire for her affection and excitement of the day as they rode in a carriage out further into the country had kept any suspicions at bay. They had gone to a fair run by a strange group of men, women, and children who traveled through town over the summer season. His mother had brought him to a man who was an old friend of hers. The man had offered to show him around the fair while his mother went off and enjoyed herself. Bitterly, Erik recalled how his excitement had grown as he went off with the gypsy without seeing the coins which had slipped between hands.

Shoving those memories away, he concentrated on the present with Christine. He watched as she glanced over at the campsite being set by Arturo and the boy. Though neither of them spoke each other's language, the two had formed a silent understanding and companionship between them and with Christine as well. He frowned. How was it possible for her to feel such emotions for a child she had only known for a few days and still keep her distance from him except during their lessons? Even worse still, he was being to find himself jealous at the relationship beginning to blossom between all three of them, leaving him to always be on the outside.

Erik's hands clenched, tearing his eyes away from the scene, as he chastised himself_. Oh now is not the time for self-pity you fool. Show her what you wanted to show her._

He took a step closer. "The boy is fine. We are not going far."

Christine glanced at him. "And where are we going?"

"If I told you it would ruin the whole thing."

He faltered for moment from the weary look she gave. Under her gaze, he felt like that small child again, yearning for acceptance, to prove his actions were not always full of horrible intent. He loathed himself for feeling such things, but the emotions were not so easily swept away.

He forced himself to hold her gaze. "Trust me…please…."

Christine stared at him. The moments seemed to pass like hours before she held out her hand. "Very well…let us see this surprise."

For a moment, his hand reached out toward hers, imagining the warmth that would surge through him when their hands connected. Every time they touched, he felt as though he would never let her ago with each time becoming harder and harder to release her. Abruptly, he dropped his hand, turned away from her, and began to walk back into the forest as Christine followed close behind.

The sunlight poured through the barren treetops, the colorful leaves crunching under their worn shoes.

"Well…if you will not tell me what the surprise is and you have not seen it fit to inform me of how long this journey shall take, can we at least have our lesson early?" Christine asked.

Erik smiled to himself.

"Please?" Her voice was suddenly small and uncertain.

Erik grimaced, his fingers tightening into fists. In delaying his answer, he had caused her to become the tentative and frightened girl he had rescued from the asylum. How could he not know that by now?

He paused and glanced over his shoulder at her, offering her a smile. "If you wish it then a lesson we shall have my dear." His heart began to race as he saw the now familer light in her eyes when they shad their lessons. Turning back around, he cleared his throat, slipping into the role of teacher. "First let us go through what I have already taught you only to make sure you have all of it before we go on to something new…is that all right with you?"

"Oui…I mean si, Senior."

Erik nodded and began to review the other phrases he had taught her as they walked further into the forest.

XxX

She heard the sound of water and smelled the fresh salt air before she saw. The scent stirred something inside her, and she quickened her pace, the feelings of childhood soaring through her. Could it be possible? Her feet seemed to fly across the ground. Only moments later, she emerged from the dense forest to an open field, and far below that, she glimpsed the sea.

Her eyes never wavered from watching the horizon, her feet moving as though drawn by some higher power toward the vast water. She barely felt Erik's presence beside her, touching her arm just enough to prevent her from plummeting into the watery depths.

The waves lapped gently against the rocks far below, the sound lulling her like the warm caress of a parent. Locked away memories of the summers spent by the sea with her father played out before her; the haunting sound of his precious violin filled her ears. Each time a wave crashed against the rocks, more cherished memories came to her. Her father had once said that the sea was the first instrument God had given the world.

"How did you know?" She asked Erik softly.

"You told me often about your time with your father by the seashore when you were a little girl." She heard a rare smile in his voice. "It was your most favorite time of the year because-"

"It was just me and Papa," she finished for him with a contented sigh. "None of the other people from the fairs would come with us because most could not swim or were just afraid."

The memories had not been figments of her imagination!

As her eyes roamed across the ocean's surface, another memory stirred, playing out before her. A young boy, perhaps thirteen or fourteen, stood by the shore, his clothes soaked and his darkened hair plastered to his forehead. His face was flushed, his blue eyes dancing as he raised his right hand in victory, her favorite red scarf clutched in his hand. Quickly, in her mind's eye, the boy's features shifted into a young man's solemn face. His once innocent eyes shone with a distant mixture of concern and disdain, watching from afar as she cried out for his help before darkness surrounded her. What had happened to that boy who dove into the sea without a thought for himself? Her guide, and the one who promised to guard her from all the evils in the world, had vanished.

She blinked, the scene dissolving as quickly as it had come. The magic gone. Abruptly, she turned on her heel and headed back the way they had come, quickening her pace with each step.

Erik hurried after her. "Did I do-?"

"No!" The sharpness of her own voice stirred her from the darkness of her thoughts. She took a deep breath. "Pardon me; I am just not feeling well at the moment."

"Are you tired?"

She shrugged halfheartedly. How could she explain what had happened when she did not fully understand it herself? Tears stung her eyes, blurring her vision. What had happened to her? Part of her yearned to understand, but a larger part was terrified to learn the truth.

"Christine, wait. I wanted to…." His voice trailed off, an air of tension suddenly falling over him.

She glanced up at him, but he did not look at her; his eyes focused on something in the distance. She felt his hand close around hers, pulling her close to him while they walked. The sound of Arturo's voice soon reached her ears as they approached the campsite. She frowned and glanced up at Erik. Something in the man's voice seemed strained, full with unease.

As though he sensed it too, Erik halted on the path and listened.

She took a step forward, her hand rising "What's going-?"

Erik spun her into him, her head slamming against his chest as his back collided with the truck of a tall tree. Her mind raced as fast as his heart drumming against her ear. Numerous harsh, lyrical voices rose in an interrogative tone. Who were these people? What are they doing here? Oh what was happening to Orane? She fought to escape his grip, but Erik pressed her to him, his strong arms locking her in place. Her head rose ever so slightly, watching him through her eyelashes.

She opened her mouth, but paused as he brought his finger to his lips.

What was he planning?

Her heartbeat quickened the longer she listened to the strangers. God only knew what they were planning to do to them. She pictured Orane lying on the ground, bound and gagged, unable to get away. Being a thief was his trade, but he was still a child. Her ears strained as she tried to determine how many intruders there were to no avail, all their voices mixing into a blur of noise

Oh what in heaven's name was going on?

As though reading her thoughts, Erik shifted slightly, his right hand moving down until it slide into her own moist hand. He remained silent, only offering a reassuring squeeze to her hand.

Her breath caught in her throat.

Cautiously, they emerged from their hiding place and stepped into the campsite. Silence greeted them at once. A dozen darker face men stared at them, their uncertainty mirroring hers. She studied them. Each man was dressed in similar clothing: dark trousers, a shirt of dull red, blue, or green, and a pair of roughly made shoes.

Where had they come from? What were they doing here?

A high whimper roused her from her questions. Christine peered around the small ensemble of strangers and spotted Orane doubled over his head bent low as though trying to protect himself from an assault. Beside him, Arturo sat quite still as though observing the whole affair. She frowned. Why had he not tried to help Orane? She took a tiny step forward and paused, feeling a small tug on her arm as Erik again kept her by his side.

She glanced at him, perplexed.

Erik stared ahead and slowly raised his right hand. "Devlesa avilan."

**Please review and let me know what you thought. I promise the next chapter will not take nearly as long.**


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